What was Taken
by kaispan
Summary: Sajantha was a bard, a follower of Oghma: a student of knowledge and truth. After Irenicus, she finds herself doubting all that she thought she knew... about herself, about her magic, and even being a Bhaalspawn. PC x Edwin
1. Day 1

6/11/13: So I'm sure no one believes I will ever update this, which I can hardly blame anyone for thinking-but I have actually been working on it these last years! I am thoroughly resolved to continuing it, however long it takes. AND I AM IN THE PROCESS OF RE-WRITING THIS ENTIRE THING! I am a much better writer now than I was four years ago; it freaks me out that this is still posted... I really want to hide it hahaha; the only reason it is staying up is because some people have favorited/followed it so I don't want to delete it altogether. So! If you would, please join me traveling first through BG1 with my other stories; I promise we will get to BG2 and it will be worth the wait. :)

You can also follow me on my _deviantart _page (artastrophe) where you may find some BG art to tide you over! Thank you all for your patience.

~ k**  
**

**Rating**: I've channeled the story through a darker sort of perspective, so some 'Mature' situations are inevitable (and there's a little bit of language). Otherwise it's probably a solid T; I've just rounded up.

**DAY 1**

Disjointed. Like her thoughts—staccato—this disconnected rhythm, this haze that swarmed her body. A dissonance inside her mind as she struggled to think. To remember.

Sajantha couldn't remember how to _breathe_. Every gasp of air felt too heavy to offer any of the relief she desperately craved. Her body would not respond. Her body was dying.

_It isn't like a normal pain_

He had brought her back more than once from the brink of death, over and over and finally left her alone in the darkness, trembling in fear.

_It's on the inside_

She was empty. She could feel it now, a hole within her that vibrated with uncertain tension. Breathe. Breathe. She was trying, but she couldn't remember why.

_Don't want to be here alone_

Imoen's eyes were hollow and dark, a window to her own dimming spirit. Imoen. _Breathe_.

She felt a relief so deep it momentarily dampened the ache she felt inside: the pressure within her bones that still carried the tingle of magical residue. The feeling had been with her as long as she had been imprisoned; it had not departed with their captor.

"Imoen." Her voice cracked as she spoke, a painful rasp dragged from her throat. She couldn't remember the last time she had made any noise save to scream. Her captor seemed to have lost interest in her, returning only to punish. But now he was gone.

And here was Imoen, her eyes wide and dark and haunted, and Sajantha knew she had not been spared.

_There's people dead all over_

Her friend had unlocked the cell with shaky fingers and they fell into each other with a boneless embrace. Sajantha could feel the other girl trembling. She felt her own self shaking, too weak to even release her building sobs.

"We've got to get moving," Imoen mumbled into her hair. "I don't think I could manage to break out again."

Sajantha pulled back, trying not to stare. Imoen's voice was flat, without inflection, belying the same despair and weariness Sajantha felt. Mirrored. The same shadows she felt crawling through her bathed Imoen's eyes in darkness.

"It hurts on the inside," she whispered, and Sajantha knew. Oh yes, she knew.

Her friend's haunted gaze told her more than she could have asked.

_I'm going to have a couple of scars from this... looks like you will too_

They peered through the dim room, anxious not to dwell on remembered pain lest they call it back, but could not tell which of the nearby shadowed cells held occupants. "There was a room with some equipment," Imoen suggested.

But not their equipment. Not the gear they had earned, in blood and coin, not the harp Gorion had gifted her when her magical talents blossomed through music, not those keepsakes of his, of her other life, that she once carried with her. The gear in the storage room was as unfamiliar as their surroundings.

As unwelcome.

Sajantha stiffened at the thought of sliding rough leather over her tender skin, rubbing into her sore body, carrying the added weight. She doubted she could even draw a small bow. Would she feel safer, just having it?

Swords, blows had been no use. Veiled shadows absorbed their attacks and the mist that clung in their minds made further action useless, slipping away… darkness. And then... she had awoke... and never stopped wishing she had not.

An oppressive fear settled over her, a heavy reminder breathing over her shoulder—the thought of being discovered before they could make good their escape. It was enough to spur her into movement.

They found two of their companions nearby, and Sajantha froze in her continued search when she heard Dynaheir was dead. Jaheira's face tightened as well, and Sajantha didn't ask after Khalid, though she thought she saw Imoen flinch and avoid their eyes.

They sought escape, a substitute for answers.

As soon as they entered the next room Sajantha felt the deep thrum of a machine surge through her feet, through her body, and she grabbed her head with a cry of pain. A mephit, drawn by the noise or the machine itself, flew toward her eagerly. Distantly she heard Minsc let out a yell and charge, and she felt the sting of magic missiles as they flew past her and knocked the creature off course. But another mephit remained…

Sajantha reached inside herself for a spell of her own, and found…nothing. She bit back a panicked gasp as it lunged towards her. The machine let out another jarring thrum, mingling with the mephit's excited cry, and she was knocked backwards in a daze of light and pain.

She became aware slowly, as she felt her nerve endings tingling all at once, then an abrupt flaring as if they were sizzling out of control. She was lost in a sea of pain; knives inside her veins. She had felt it before—before—"No! _No!" _But it was no masked monster kneeling above her this time: it was Jaheira, murmuring a prayer, only... instead of the calming balm Sajantha expected to feel, her skin was on _fire_, a burning pain that shuddered throughout her weakened body.

She shook violently, begging to slip back into oblivion—for a moment, for forever—but the persistent ministrations of the druid kept her anchored firmly in this dark reality.

_No... this... this is an illusion... a dream... a bad dream..._

"Child," a familiar voice pleaded.

She heard distant screaming as she fell back into the darkness.

* * *

Sajantha struggled through the painful cadence in her head, the drumbeats that overwhelmed all her senses, struggled awake only to be confronted with a scene more bizarre than any nightmare.

Quiet.

Abrupt, profound, and all-pervasive.

Nothing else: no stalking phantoms, no masked villains. The noise in her head seemed to grow in volume when confronted with this incongruous green paradise, the silence of it.

_Where?_

The disconnect in her mind brought a wave of dizziness, of confusion. Concerned eyes set in an alienly beautiful face watched her. A – a dryad? Here?

She struggled to sit up.

"Your friends left you here while they went searching for the exit," a musical voice explained. Sajantha stared back. She could not comprehend this place, this strange peace that permeated it. Was... _was _it peace she felt, now? Or simply a lethargic numbness? The feeling was as strange as the kindness on their beautiful faces. The only face she had seen in so long, a living mask—

"You are safe here, child," another dryad said. "Though you have been injured most severely."

"In ways we cannot see, but only sense," said another. "You are not well; even the spells of healing that your tree-friend cast only caused you further harm."

Their voices intertwined, overlapped like music; it brought to mind the tranquil notes of the harp Gorion had given her that never failed to evoke his quiet presence. She felt a dizzying rush of longing for the past, a return to the familiar... lost to her, forever.

Gone, both gone.

"It may be some time, if ever, your body can withstand magic normally. Irenicus has taken much from you."

Irenicus?

So there was a name behind that mask, behind that cool, perfectly controlled visage... She could _see _those cold eyes, _feel _that cold voice, reaching like fingers around her.

"_I cannot be wrong!" _His voice rang, no longer inside her head but pounding everywhere.

Raging about her ruining his plans, of her uselessness, of her unsuitability. What did it mean?

She thought she knew.

She had always known.

_It isn't true._

And _him_—if she saw him again—she would scream. She would die.

The numbness was a terrifying ball of ice, spreading from her center.

Cold. She hunched over, rubbed her hands together, the callouses at her fingertips catching. She stared at her fingers, at the nails that had always been too short to use in plucking her harp strings. Her small hands seemed strange, ungainly... their pale skin almost transparent in the dim lighting.

There was no harp to pluck now, there was no music. No Gorion. Only... silence.

The lush greenery around her seemed a mockery, a joke.

Without those instruments, the trinkets, the letters... her magic would be all that she retained from her father Gorion. Without it…

He seemed that much farther.

Her friends' arrival was a welcome distraction. "We have found your acorns, oh ladies of the wood!" came Minsc's cheerful voice. Imoen, her normally bright face so _dim, _stilllit up the slightest bit on seeing her. "Sajantha! You're awake!"

Imoen ran the rest of the way towards her. "We were so worried about you! Jaheira didn't know what to do and she was so angry that—" Imoen took in Sajantha's face, correcting herself hurriedly, "—not at you, that her spells weren't working—"

Sajantha sat up the rest of the way. "You…you didn't have any problems with magic, though, did you?"

"Nah, Jaheira patched me up just fine." There was a weighted silence. "Oh, you mean…" she trailed off uncomfortably, looking worried. "The dryads said you might not be able to cast it, but…" she sighed. "I'm sorry."

There had been a time when she had reveled in each of Imoen's magical successes, inflated with pride that her "little sister" had taken to her instruction, taken after _her, _her goals, her study, after so long—well, _Dynaheir's_ instruction, really, she could not forget –

Dynaheir was dead.

"Let's worry about it later." Sajantha said, clearing her throat.

"We found a...a key to get out of here," Imoen said hesitantly, chewing her lip, "but… it's for some magical portal-thingy. Do you think…"

Sajantha felt a surge of panic that nearly took her breath away. Magic—no, no—on her skin, inside her—

She quenched it down, her fear of their captor that much stronger. "I am _not_ staying here," she said firmly. Imoen looked relieved, squeezed her shoulder. "Don't worry; we're almost out of here."

The dryads watched with solemn eyes. "Live as you can where you must, young woman. You will not survive if you give in. We have learned this."

They looked on with a sympathy born of shared suffering, a solidarity of kind and kindred that welcomed and repulsed her.

_He has touched you as we, hasn't he?_

Sajantha couldn't meet their knowing gaze.

_So beautiful you are. I almost can't see you._

* * *

A ride; a ride on the back of a windstorm that tore the breath from her lungs as surely as it tore her through space. She could almost see the tendrils of magic snaking around, trying to pull her apart. It felt as if they might succeed.

The aftermath of energy still shuddering through her sat heavily, crushed into her chest... but they were through. Her lungs stretched just enough to let in a gasp of air. The walls spun violently around her then and she collapsed, her stomach clenching in protest. She couldn't recall when she had eaten last and could only retch dryly; each heave racking her with rolling dizziness.

Even Imoen, with her ghostlike far-off look did not appear so physically weak. Irenicus had apparently overestimated her; she imagined the blood of Bhaal would have fared better.

"_This cannot be! I cannot be wrong!" _As long as he yelled, as long as he was raging, the pain would cease.

She shuddered.

* * *

None of it seemed real. As if it were a spotlight, the harsh sun pounded down overhead to outline the unfolding exchange in vivid detail. Its stinging glare seemed a mockery of the days she had suffered in darkness; its brightness seemed just as impossible as her time underground.

"I'm not going with him, I'm not! Help me! _Please!_"

Imoen's voice was a plea, flung out in desperation; even as her body disappeared it rang through the sudden emptiness, echoing inside the new hollow within Sajantha. She could only stare, horror-struck, at the place her friend had stood.

No, no, no!—They had made it through the dungeon, they had _survived—_they had _escaped. _This wasn't... this couldn't... _he _couldn't—_no._

"Imoen..." she whispered.

She sat stunned, before the massive destruction that marked the collapsed dungeon. Imoen was gone, their captor with her. More wizards, more magic. She had nearly passed out again as the Cowled Ones had begun their magical battle—the wild energies in the air were enough to overwhelm her. Once those same energies had been at her command, but now… now they surged into blackness when she tried to recall them.

Her world upside down, and no way that she could think to right it.

...But it was better not to think.

Stop. Just... look around. Take a breath.

_I want to go home._

Just... just breathe. For now, for here. She could do that much.

_Home._

Breathe breathe breathe

She could take a thousand breaths a thousand times and still be here: here, where Gorion was not, where Imoen was not... this empty place.

_Home_. Candlekeep.

Without them...

it was home no longer.

She didn't want to think. She didn't want to stand up, to look around, to be confronted by the strangeness of this new locale, these people she did not know. These people that walked past them now, oblivious, that Khalid was dead and Dynaheir was dead and Imoen was _gone _and Sajantha was breaking inside, broken – they would not care.

She did not want to do anything but lay there, steeped in her own misery. She wanted someone to come and fix everything for her: gather the pieces, tie them together.

She was coming apart.

Her companions... they wanted to pursue him. They wanted to find him, to _face _him, and she could _not, _could not even entertain the possibility. Knowing what Irenicus was capable of...

"No," she whispered, shaking.

"Something must be done, Sajantha!" Minsc cried, voice breaking. "We must find this evil wizard! He flees from righteous butt-kicking vengeance and takes Imoen with him, too!"

They would not win.

She shook her head, a denial as much to herself as anything.

Imoen.

She could not...

She could not leave her.

That desperate panic in her friend's eyes... Imoen knew what Irenicus was capable of, too.

* * *

Athkatla, Yoshimo told them. The City of Coin. Information might be bought here as any other commodity, had they the gold to pay.

Yoshimo, the stranger, captured as they had been, escaped as they had escaped. Whatever his own losses, they did not seem to rest on him so heavily. They were lucky to have encountered him; his knowledge of the area would prove invaluable.

Amn. She knew little of Baldur's Gate's southern neighbor, almost-enemy.

Would they know of her?

It did not take long for one to seek them out... there would be no safety for her in even anonymity, here. Gaelan Bayle, a man with answers or at least access to them, named his price for twenty thousand gold.

They left his domicile in mixed spirits.

Sajantha looked around, feeling for bearings that no longer existed, points of reference long lost.

"The whole of Amn around us," Jaheira said, taking a deep breath as she stepped up beside Sajantha.

"Take care the choices you make," the druid continued after a moment. Her eyes burned into the distance. "I have a greater duty to the balance of things and, no offense, you might be able to tip such balance. It is because of who you are."

"You mean _what_ I am," Sajantha murmured, _what they think I am_. She could not keep her own gaze fixed on the horizon; her eyes, restless as the rest of her, jumped about—coming to rest on Yoshimo. Was he listening?

"It is important for you to take the right path."

"I only see one before me," she admitted to Jaheira's expectant visage. It led to Imoen. It led to...

Her steps blurred.

"Take care," the druid said again. "You will set your own path, but others like me have to deal with the outcome."

Sajantha's eyes shot to her, disbelief softening her defensive glare—was the woman really distancing herself like this? Now?

_My friend—_

The path blurred again.

She needed Jaheira—she needed _someone_—to reassure her, to hold her up. She took a single step before her knees folded, sitting down heavily.

She needed –

"Imoen,"

she whispered, fisting trembling fingers in her hair, squeezing into her scalp as her knees drew up, her head bowed down over them. Ignoring her surroundings, her companions; they were so _secondary_ to the turmoil raging inside her. Gods gods _gods._

How could she—? How was she supposed to...?

Breathe. Just breathe.

The tightness in her chest recalled only the pain she had left not so far behind.

He cut... he cut...

…_cold, ugly things..._

Her deep breath strangled out in a sob.

A dark shadow filled the edges of her vision. "Sajantha," a deep voice said tenderly. She peeked upwards into earnest eyes. "Minsc does not like to see you this way," he said, "Boo is worried."

"I..."

_I'm scared. I'm so scared._

After living so long in the darkness, was it any wonder she carried it with her? The sun could not touch her, the warmth on her skin didn't penetrate far enough; all beneath was a chill, a remnant.

It was not simply Boo that was worried, by Minsc's troubled look.

_Come on, Sajantha—you can't just sit there. We've got to get moving, you goon! I...I can't do this alone._

Sajantha cleared her throat. "I...I guess we should get moving, then, hm?" she tried a smile. It must have been convincing, for the giant's eyes widened in relief as an answering grin split his face. She took his hand gratefully as he reached down for her.

"Minsc and Boo and you! There can be no greater a team in all the Realms!" he beamed as he brought her to her feet with ease. She felt a surge of affection, sincerity strengthening her smile.

A first step.

And a first stop: vendor. They sold some of the equipment left in Irenicus's dungeon. Deprived of their original gear, most of it they would continue using. No one had possessed the strength—or even desire—to carry much more with them. They had not been thinking of loot, of riches, a shortsight Sajantha could only now regret... But as hindsight went, that rested among the least of her concerns.

They didn't have enough gold left for supplies, certainly not of the quality they had lost... not if they wished to find lodging.

Yoshimo directed them to a cheap inn. More than gear, they needed rest.

* * *

Jaheira breathed quietly beside her, face obscured in the darkness. She continued somehow, despite her losses (_because_ of them?), carried on, moving forward—when to Sajantha the world was a ledge, a knife-edge of abruptness—on one side lay oblivion and she faltered. The path she had spoke of, the path she had seen—Imoen indeed lay on one side, far-off, and the road she feared to tread was the darkness that separated them.

Jaheira did not seek comfort, would not offer it.

_Words are nothing!_

And yet...

"_Because of who you are_–" It was her words that wore Sajantha down, ate at her...

Child of _Bhaal—_

It was an accusation, a bad taste in her mouth. A lie.

But Jaheira could not be blamed for that. She did not _know. _What Irenicus had said, what Sajantha had known all along... They had never spoken of it. They had never spoken of the wary looks, the whispers, the speculation that followed Sarevok's demise... they had never spoken of the way Sajantha had been unable to handle it: in silent concord, they had moved on –

_run away_

–not far–

They had never discussed it.

And outside Baldur's Gate, the shadows had risen up, taking form, drinking, swallowing.

The darkness—_alive_—an unrelenting force, solid—pushing her down.

It filled the air, her lungs.

She breathed it in, and breathing it in, it consumed her from the inside.

No lights, no thoughts.

_Infinity._

She longed for it; closed her eyes, seeking in vain.

At the moment it seemed a fair trade.


	2. Day 2

**DAY 2**

Once she had thought the Temple of Oghma in Candlekeep a grand display, its marble pillars and gilded font a splendid tribute to his name.

Compared to the striking magnitude of Amn's Temple District it was the frayed corner of a grand tapestry.

Oghma.

The center of Candlekeep, her own deity. How much tribute, how much _thought_ had she paid him of late? The Lord of Knowledge. Where had he been inside Irenicus's dungeon? When he could not even tell her _why?_

Sajantha had hoped to find calm at least in the Temple District. Calm, since answers would apparently be denied her. No answers, no cure. She had even tried the temple of Talos, thinking they would be familiar with curses if not the healing of them, but it seemed her condition was a mystery to every denomination. And would remain one to her. The poking and prodding of priests, the questions, had reminded her abruptly of Irenicus, of imprisonment, and she had fled lest the memories themselves hold her captive.

So she sat on the steps outside, tried to absorb some of the steadiness of the stone, some restfulness from the subdued atmosphere, but even that was to be withheld.

A crowd had gathered outside the temple of Lathander. Uninterested in maintaining quiet or peace, certainly uninterested in venerating the Morninglord, they were making enough of a fuss that she could focus on little else. She ignored them desperately, head in hands, wishing the stone would swallow her and allow her a moment of repose.

An eternity.

The crowd's voices had become shouts, but it was a more immediate noise that startled her. She looked up at the clanking of mail, recognizing Minsc on size alone, and rubbed her head as she sat up. It took only moments for the rest of her companions to gather, to share their reports.

Sajantha eyed them each disbelievingly, trying to piece together their information. Her head ached abominably, each throb a reminder of her duty.

Twenty thousand gold.

Imoen.

Bodies in the streets, casualties of a guild war and something more nefarious—somewhere, a lone killer—

The night was not a safe place to be in Athkatla. Athkatla _itself_ seemed unsafe—however glorious the Temple District was, the lesser sections of the city teemed with crime and poverty. Crime even the Thieves Guild seemed unable to keep in hand, if the rumors were any indication.

Would they be willing to compensate outsiders in return for aid?

"I'm sure the churches would be grateful to enlist your help in investigating this new cult." Jaheira said, tilting her head towards the dispersing crowd.

Is that what it was? Sajantha was surprised at her lack of interest, but considered a moment.

"…_Financially_ grateful?"

The churches hadn't been able to help with her condition, not even to name it. She felt no obligation. A twinge inside her belied her indifference, a reminder of her once faithful services to Oghma. Was Candlekeep the last place she had consistently practiced her devotions? It was a lifetime ago. There seemed to be no space in her life, her world, for any gods... or no, just the one: dead, and he haunted her, dogged her steps and her _life_ and everyone's perception of it.

They were all looking at her. Expectantly. Even Jaheira, Jaheira who for so long had been the leader of the group, in voice if not name. Jaheira, who had of late taken to staring off, forgetting herself, though Sajantha knew she was not forgetting but _remembering._

Hopefully Jaheira's memories offered more comfort than Sajantha's own.

The bard wanted to give up, sit back down.

But for Imoen.

Could she remember how to act the hero? Was remembering all she needed, a guide for the rest of her body, a reminder how it felt? Surely not this hollow stillness. Heroes had _fire_. Heroes had _drive._

Heroes had _gold._

"I hate to say it," she said slowly, "but we need to focus on the most lucrative."

"This is enough to keep even the most exalted of heroes busy! Where e'er evil goes it shall find the shadow of our boot-heel in wait!" cried Minsc.

Sajantha's head felt heavy; it was work not to cradle it. "The Thieves Guild. They definitely have the means."

"And what business would they have us do?" Jaheira frowned.

Sajantha wondered if the druid's frequent scowl would remain, perpetual, grooved into her skin by the end of this.

The nature of the work worried the younger woman less than the finding of it; there would be someone there to receive orders from, someone else who made decisions that needed carrying out. It was easier, infinitely easier: the carrying out, not the decision-making. Who had ever thought she could be in charge?

"I'm sure they need help with this whole guild war thing. We'll just get to the bottom of it for them," Sajantha said, shrugging.

Mercenaries. If anyone appreciated the value of coin it would have to be a guild of thieves. Twenty thousand gold pieces. How did that measure in hours, in days? In minutes that her oldest friend didn't have? The work... the work must not trouble her. Not if it was for Imoen.

"And just how will we manage to wrap this up in a timely fashion? At least the other options have some solid task, an _ending._ A war has no such easy resolution." Jaheira wasn't convinced.

"Well, I'm sure our presence alone will be enough to spur this mystery group into action. Even if we aren't looking to get involved, they'll probably send someone. I mean, we've already been contacted by one organization."

An organization that Gaelan Bayle had stubbornly refused to unmask, which unsettled her however much Yoshimo vouched for his word. They were both likeable enough fellows, she supposed, but what was the expression? Honor amongst thieves? She couldn't recall if it was tongue-in-cheek, delivered in irony, or an actual standard.

"But how will we find this mystery group? Boo's nose is a-quiver in suspense!"

"No, see?" Sajantha smiled tightly. "They'll find _us._" She was confident on that account, at least.

Their reputation would proceed them. The saviors of Baldur's Gate.

The Bhaalspawn.

A voice surged up inside her skull, a vibration of pain remembered. _I cannot be wrong! _She shoved it away, tried to focus.

Jaheira slapped her forehead. "Ugh! Why should the most foolish of plans be the most likely to succeed? I am not convinced this is the best solution, or task to pursue."

"We'll do what we have to," Sajantha said firmly. Twenty thousand gold.

_For her_.

For her she would face nightmares made flesh.

_Irenicus._

Let it not come to that.

* * *

The night offered no rest. Her dreams echoed her pain, her terror—but how could they still frighten her, when it was her waking life that was ultimately the more terrifying; however unbelievable, the reality of it was worse than any nightmare.

But she could not escape him. _Had_ not escaped him. Not in her dreams... as the day she carried him with her, like the scars, like the pain. In her dreams, she thought to outrun him, but no safe haven came to mind.

When had she last felt safe?

Candlekeep.

Like a child, fixated—she reached out– Just a thought, and she was suddenly there. Only... it was changed, distorted—a shadow of its former vibrancy. Empty as a tomb. Even the grounds seemed to echo, desolate. Candlekeep, dead or dying, its inhabitants mercifully absent. Was this truly a reflection, or _his_ corruption upon it, perverting even her memories?

She started to wish for Gorion, that familiar face in this distorted place, but wondered if he would be changed as well. Wondered that if she could summon a person here for the thinking of it—well, there was one that she should never like to see again, one that remained constantly in her mind that would seize upon the lightest of thoughts as an invitation.

Best not to think of that, of _him._

So she should enjoy this stillness, this emptiness, though it was the stillness of the grave. The land was cracked and dying, the Keep itself seemed to sag from its own weight, tired.

Her home, once.

Did they remember her? Mourn her as they did Gorion? Or would they remember only lies, the Bhaalspawn? She thought of the dopplegangers stealing the faces of her friends, neighbors, wishing death upon her. She couldn't face them again, knowing she had killed them.

Just as Khalid, Dynaheir... Gorion... had died for her. Because of her.

"It is too late to go back," a voice said behind her. A voice familiar and unfamiliar—it sounded like Imoen, but not the Imoen she remembered. Not the childhood friend she would reach out for in her dreams. It was the Imoen of recent memory: the Imoen who had suffered as she had, whose pain and fear had left her gutted, hollow; it reflected in her voice.

They were children no longer. And Candlekeep itself had aged.

Sajantha turned, saw her friend contemplating the large crumbling building, the only thing that stood out in the bleak landscape. Imoen's eyes met hers. Cold, empty. Like the land, like her voice.

"They wouldn't have you now. They wouldn't have me. "

It was true and Sajantha had _known_ and somehow it still hurt to hear it. There was nothing to go back to.

Empty, truly empty. A reflection of _herself_.

Imoen began to walk, and Sajantha found herself following mechanically as though pulled on wheels, merely following in the grooves of someone's earlier tracks. As if it were a show_. But who is the audience?_ The empty grounds seemed to whisper as she walked by.

"He wants something," Imoen's voice was low, uneasy, and Sajantha halted as she felt the unpleasant tendrils of fear tightening around her spine.

Her friend's voice abruptly returned to almost normal, childlike, lost. "I... I don't know why. Those in the cowls don't even know." Helpless: _"Why don't I know?"_

An echo of her unease rose up within Sajantha. "Imoen," she began, but the girl kept talking; ignorant of her interjection or ignoring it.

"You are far away... too far away to help..."

Sajantha felt dizzy, the déjà vu a rush of knowledge; she had had these dreams before, actors all—a play upon the stage of her mind that she would be forced to watch, unable to act—No!

She was—she was _not – _She had stopped them before. _No dreams._

"Memories should stay... but he digs deeper... pushes everything aside..."

As if she had summoned them, Sajantha saw flickers of her own past taking form in the mists: she watched as Gorion fell, her breath constricted—even as an echo of himself, an illusion, it struck her. He was a frozen statue, the barest memory, stilled with Imoen's matter-of-fact pronouncement. Gorion and Khalid and—

"I don't remember any of you," Imoen whispered, and if there was regret in her words it didn't reach her voice, nor her eyes as the three figures groaned, shedding their mortal trappings to disappear in a cloud of dust and light.

Imoen turned her haunted eyes upon Sajantha. Sajantha, shocked and rooted to the spot just as Gorion had been –

"Do you remember me? I...I can almost see..." Imoen blinked, shaking her head. Sajantha wanted to step towards her but couldn't move. _It was all an act, a show. _It was all a dream.

"I want to, but I..." Imoen looked up, fear and hopelessness swallowing her features. "Too _late_. You will come too late..."

Abruptly she was as motionless as Gorion had been moments before, face frozen in desperation.

Sajantha sank to her knees, overwhelmed, feeling that dark presence erupting to saturate the landscape. She didn't have to turn around to see, to _know._

Him.

She tried to sink down farther but knew that he had seen her. Felt his _eyes_ on her. Crawling.

Too late.

Too late.

His voice—his voice was the same, fingers of pain digging through her body, her _mind_ and she wanted to scream but there was no _air—_

There was no air it was a _dream_ it wasn't real

"Nothing is real," Irenicus said placidly, towering over her. "Yet."

Imoen exploded.


	3. Day 3

**DAY 3**

It felt good to have a plan again, something with progress that could be measured. This afternoon would see them stealing from the Storm Lord's clergy, this latest task with their infiltration of the thieves. Sajantha was a bit leery of crossing Talos but had no wish to compromise their investigation so early, and Yoshimo seemed willing enough to play his part: to contribute his thieving abilities, taking over what Imoen's quick fingers had always handled.

In order to augment the skills the rogue assured her were already considerable, they stopped by the Adventurer's Mart for potions. She wasn't taking any chances, not with the Thieves Guild and certainly not with Talos... she had no wish to draw the attention of any living gods, after all.

While Yoshimo picked out the correct potion, Sajantha stared longingly at the equipment on display. It was on par with that which they had lost; their own low quality items loudly proclaimed their current lack of funds. That along with some sort of history with Jaheira—or Harpers, at least—the shopkeeper hardly seemed inclined to humor them—indeed, aside from their initial purchase, he seemed personally affronted by their presence. His guards paid them special notice.

Sajantha would have been offended had larceny not briefly crossed her mind. There was not a line she would not cross to get back her friend.

Outside was just as tense. The circus tent that filled the center of the Promenade, just outside the Mart and mere steps from the battle the day before—seemed to have been poisoned by the magical energy lingering in the air.

She could still feel the spent magic, sense it like a whiff of ozone, of burning. From their battle? Or something else? The tent itself seemed to rest heavily; the nearby citizens ignored it or sent wary glances. A child was crying. She couldn't keep passing by as they did, closing her senses and stepping around; it beckoned, a malignance that wanted addressing.

She couldn't brush it aside, even though entering the tent was like stepping into an oven: the stifling overwhelming sensation of magic, pressing in, suffocating. She breathed it in, like smoke it burned but past her lungs, _through_ her_, _into something more essential. Something _wrong._

They sought the source, the tumor, fighting illusion—the entire _setup_ was an illusion—And at last made it through the maze, gasping, to the finish line. Almost a joke, that this tiny broken body before them had seemed such a terrible monster, so in control.

And the spellcaster, the slip of an elf, this innocent girl wished to follow them? Was there a joke in this as well?

"This is a good plan, Boo agrees! No group should be without a witch," Minsc beamed at the slender woman, all the more tiny beside him.

Sajantha flinched, unable to disguise it, suddenly wary. No one was looking at her. Out of respect, out of pity?

No, the elf had seen it. Her eyes watched, wide and unsure. Her eyes, her bearing, all spoke of innocence, naivete. She pictured this girl at the mercy of Irenicus, the brightness in her eyes fading only to stare out like Imoen's: dull, dying... but still alive. She nearly shuddered again.

He will destroy us. Jaheira, Minsc... we've already lost something. Even Yoshimo, though she would not press him for it.

She would not be responsible for ruining anyone else.

Not this beautiful girl with her shining eyes. Beneath those ripples of her hesitancy, her self-consciousness, Sajantha saw flashes of determination, a quiet strength.

If this girl was lucky _that_ would be the one thing to remain when they had stripped the rest away, worn her down until all that was left was her conviction, all that withstood was her drive: courage no longer but simple expediency.

_I will use you up_, she thought. _I will drain you._

You can still function, she knew,

when you wish you could die but you will not.

Your drive.

Your purpose.

_A shell._

Her hands were shaking as she turned away.

There was work to be done.

* * *

Sajantha hung back while Mae'Var finished addressing the group. The closeted air in the basement was making her feel light-headed with its sickly stink, and she was afraid the guild leader might notice her struggle to stand. Lin lay on the bloodied table, not moving. She held her breath, wishing she hadn't insisted on this course. If she passed out, would that give them away? Would she wake on the table, in Lin's place?

"I haven't the time to piddle around with you, so my right-hand man will keep you busy until you can work for me personally." Mae'Var's oily voice coated an otherwise benign statement, and she felt relief. Out of here.

"His name is Edwin." Her sigh of relief caught in her throat. Was it—?

"Bloody good spellcaster," Mae'Var continued, but Sajantha was no longer listening. It was. She glanced at Minsc, who by his distracted air could _possibly _have recognized the name (or perhaps was listening to something Boo had said—perhaps _Boo_ had recognized it), and Jaheira, whose narrowing eyes spelled out her thoughts clearly. Yoshimo remained motionless.

"He's on the third floor above us. Get going." Mae'Var's dismissal and Jaheira's motioning abruptly jarred Sajantha from her thoughts.

"What do you think he's doing here?" Sajantha asked the other half-elf, hurrying after her. Jaheira had set a quick pace, and Sajantha had to take the stairs two at a time to reach her.

Jaheira's mouth was tight, her words as clipped as her steps. "He can only be trouble. And there is no way yet of knowing what kind."

Sajantha paused, suddenly afraid to voice the thought that had just occurred to her. "Maybe he could help us." _Every group needs a witch._ Though how he would chafe at being compared to a Wychlaran! How Minsc would be even more offended! After the dust settled between the two, they would no doubt turn their anger at her. Whichever one still stood.

Jaheira's glare could not deepen more into her face, but it certainly tried. Her mouth twisted. "He will do things for his own reasons, for his own profit. We would do well not to count on any assistance from _that _quarter."

They paused in front of the stairs to the third floor, staring at each other while the others caught up. "We'll just have to find some way to make it worth his while." Sajantha said, reluctant to entirely dismiss the idea. Fool, she knew. Foolish, and yet...

Was it only her regard for mages, instilled by Gorion? Edwin. Everything the beautiful elf was not: confident, unyielding, and most of all, experienced. Edwin the Red Wizard of Thay. Bloody good spellcaster, indeed!

The pitying look Jaheira gave her brought her right back to her first year of adventuring. Minsc and Yoshimo arrived beside them a moment later, the latter eying the many doors that lined the room with speculation.

"Jaheira!" Sajatha hissed, catching the druid's attention. The woman raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"We need to keep Minsc away from him. After… you know."

Jaheira's mouth tightened. She knew. Though no doubt it was Khalid's loss—not Dynaheir's—that brought that faraway look to her eyes. Sajantha knew her own mind seemed determined to dwell on any losses and pains it could dredge up. Khalid had been a friend, a guide—but to _Jaheira—_he had been her _life_. What would that be like? What would it be like, to love someone in that way, never able to look upon him again, never able to live without being reminded of your loss?

How did she do it? _How did she still stand?_ Standing strong and firm as the trees she loved when Sajantha was a leaf trembling in the wind. Guilt was a tightening fist upon her heart. _Your fault._

"Why don't you two wait here," the druid suggested firmly, Sajantha still in her gaze. "This will not be long."

Any hopes she had as to Minsc not having recognized Edwin's name were instantly nullified by the dark look that crossed his face. "Minsc will not wait to visit justice upon the evil wizard nor stand aside while others do, for it has been looong in coming!"

Sajantha gave him a pleading glance. "We need to _talk _to him to get through this mission, not kill him!" She tugged at his arm, adding quietly, "We're doing it for Imoen, remember?" Minsc deliberated only a moment before stating confidently, "Boo says justice delayed is not justice deterred!"

"Well, that's good, then. Do you think you can keep your evil-kicking boots on the ground, for now?"

"Our boots will remain planted firmly on the ground," Yoshimo stated. Sajantha nodded at him gratefully.

She walked up the last staircase with a nervous tightening in her chest. She wasn't sure the Red Wizard wouldn't try to kill them, much less help them.

Jaheira looked at Sajantha expectantly.

Adding to her unease, she recalled that the other woman hadn't exactly gotten along with Edwin either. Or perhaps it was more that Edwin did his best not to get along with _anyone_.

They climbed the stairs slowly, and Sajantha wondered if the apprehension that seemed to thicken the air was only her own. It was a small moment later when they reached the top, spotting a lone figure in long red robes. He turned as they entered the room, red cloak sweeping the air, fluttering at his ankles.

"Edwin," Jaheira stated, managing to inflect the right amount of incredulity into her disdainful pronunciation.

Sajantha merely gaped. His clothing was less ornate than she remembered, but he seemed to have made up for that with the ornamentation of his face (were those _piercings?_) and a variety of gold jewelry. Although it was hardly out of character, she found it difficult not to stare.

"That is, Edwin _Odesseiron,_" he enunciated. "Greetings."

The Red Wizard looked bored; he had returned their inspection with one of his own and appeared doubly unimpressed. "As I have said. Since you seem to have encountered some sort of handicap of the verbal variety," (here he looked meaningfully at Sajantha, who remembered belatedly to close her mouth), "you may refer to me merely as "Sir," if you prefer a less... syllable-intensive workout."

Sajantha bristled. Did he not recognize them? The moment she had heard his name, she had been sure—and he should have no excuse not recognizing the two of them. Granted, their time together had not been long (nor especially pleasant), but she didn't think they had changed much in appearance since then. She looked down at her own rumpled clothing, her thin wrists. At least _Jaheira_ hadn't changed. The druid's eyes were burning at the Thayvian with (presently) unwarranted ferocity.

Minsc bounded forward, any thoughts of diplomacy as abruptly pushed aside as Sajantha was as he barreled past her. "You shall be called what you are! You are the enemy of fair, departed Dynaheir and therefore an enemy of mine! You shall be destroyed for the good of all!" His hands reached toward his sword.

"Minsc–!" Sajantha began, unsure whether to grab the warrior or simply grab her head in dismay. She hadn't expected things to get out of control so quickly.

Edwin turned, giving the warrior an amused look. "Ah, the feeble protector of the Rashemaar witch." He looked behind the giant curiously. "Have you finally misplaced her for good, ranger? Does she linger amidst the worms where she belongs, now?" His voice was as acidic as she remembered, and his words spurred Minsc into action. The ranger's face grew red, and a blade appeared into his white-knuckled grip.

"You will not speak of sweet Dynaheir in this fashion! Terrible hamster justice will be wreaked upon you! GO FOR THE EYES, BOO, GO—"

Edwin straightened. Not a short man, which alone meant little confronted with Minsc's sheer size, but somehow he was staring the warrior down. "Silence! You joined Mae'Var's guild with the rest of your party, ranger. Will you spoil your plans so soon? Do you think your leader would appreciate that?" The mage's eyes gave a quick flick towards Sajantha, almost unnoticeable.

Minsc deflated before their eyes as he lowered his weapon. "I... no." He gave Sajantha a heartrendingly sad glance, looking more like a kicked puppy than a hardened warrior. "No, our cause must not be disrupted. Righteous fury will wait for now, but one day the wizard shall pay for his words with blood! So swears Minsc!" He sheathed his sword unhappily.

Edwin re-ordered some of his papers on the desk, his back to them as he murmured to himself. "Oh, we shall see how long your sword lasts against my magic." Abruptly he turned. "Enough of this drivel. You there, girl. You seem to be in charge. Let's get this over with."

She finally found her voice. "Are you going to pretend you don't know me?" She realized too late she sounded like some tavern wench he had scorned, and blushed. Perhaps he would mistake the color in her cheeks for anger, for that was undeniably simmering closer to the surface. Her embarrassment only served to fuel it.

The irritation on his face was plain, even before he snapped at her. "Are you going to waste my time with idle questions? You are here to serve Mae'Var, and in doing that serve me. I will tolerate no further interruptions. (Ugh, motivating these sloths is like pulling teeth.)"

Sajatha's anger wouldn't be denied, and flared hotter at his dismissal. "Waste _your_ time? You were just standing here alone in the middle of the room before I got here!" However impressive a display his swishing robes had made, turning. Had he timed it for maximum effect? The Thayvian had a flair for the dramatic as deeply ingrained as any performer.

But she was not feeling especially lenient, she would _not _allow his flashy appearance and recollections of his competence to overawe her, would not _gawk_ like a simpleton as had her younger self—

Not when his own memory was so contemptuously selective (he could recall Dynaheir, not even present, yet _her_, face-to-face, not a flicker—why should that feel so insulting?)

"_I_ actually have things to do and I certainly don't have the time _or_ the inclination to stand here and listen to you insult me like you _know_ something of me while at the same time acting like you've never even _seen_ me before!"

"Then you hardly have the time to make noise about it, either! The sooner you finish this task (which I have yet to outline thanks to childish disruptions), the sooner you will be out of my hair and on your way."

Sajantha bristled. "Would I be as conceited as you if I expected you to at least remember me? Or was I mistaken in the impression that your so-called _immense mental facilities_ left you with room to remember a detail as trivial as my name?"

He smiled.

"Sajantha," Edwin murmured, drawing her name out. His moustaches seemed to flex with his smirk. "The past hardly matters. The company you currently keep now limits your use." The sneer curling his lips could have been meant for any of them.

She set a glare on her face, a mask for her thoughts as she tried to understand his implication. She gave in after a brief moment. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"No matter, I shall make this transaction as quick and bloodless as possible." Edwin leaned into a nearby chair, it brushed against the desk behind it as he settled back, peaking his fingers.

"Hear me. It seems my prowess as a mage has captured the eye of the Cowled Wizards. I'm certain they are envious, though their actions are not fitting tribute. They have dispatched an agent to investigate my activities, something I don't appreciate."

Sajantha's mouth thinned. More Cowled Wizards? She was sure Jaheira's expression mirrored her own.

"This insult must be punished by killing the Cowled agent. Rayic Gethras is his name. When you find him, kill him. Question him beforehand if you like. Any insight into the Cowled Wizards is useful. A little torture would soften him."

Sajantha only stared at him. Murder? Torture? Her hands began to shake, whether from anger or fear even she couldn't tell. "I don't think so." _I don't want to._

Edwin studied her. "Odd. Given your lineage I would have thought you capable of anything. (Damned, I wish they would just do as I say.)"

Her throat tightened. Lineage. Murder.

She took a deep breath, looking Edwin straight in the eye. _Bhaal is not my father. _"I refuse."

The man looked genuinely surprised. "A refusal may jeopardize your relationship with Mae'Var. Perhaps that is your intent? I begin to wonder if you are so dedicated to this place." His voice lowered as he studied her. "Yes...wonder."

Sajantha clenched her hands into fists. Minsc had held back his emotions, his desires for the sake of their mission. For Imoen. Could she do any less? No. She would kill—she would _murder_, to get Imoen back.

_Child of Bhaal._

Irenicus—

Her nails dug into her palms.

_Torture. _

His choice of words had soured her.

"Torture?" she hoped her voice didn't break on the word, as her mind did when it skidded around it. "We have no desire to commit such an act."

"You are simply being foolish. Know that to refuse is to show yourself as an outsider. You are being evaluated even as I speak."

He stared at her, studied her, and her shoulders slumped. The fire he had seen in her moments before, the fire that had been ignited when he didn't acknowledge her, was rapidly disappearing from her eyes. That blaze had turned out to be as fragile as the small flame of a candle, and had blown out as he watched her.

The lack of recognition had not been completely feigned on his part, though her companions marked her well enough. The girl was much paler, much thinner than he remembered; her already slight build even more tenuous. And tired. Shadows bathed her eyes, and even her light hair seemed dark framing such a pale face. She looked almost... old. Yet, she had only been a child when he had last seen her.

He cleared his throat. "You will have even less value to the guild if you refuse this simple request. (Hmm, I pictured this with much more obedience.)"

She said nothing, staring dully at the tabletop. They both knew she had no way out, but he sought to drive it home.

"You've no choice in the matter. Mae'Var is my benefactor, I his trusted emissary. His left hand may never know what his right hand does, but I do _for I am it_. If you wish to follow Mae'Var, you must follow me."

When she looked up, the fire guttered out from her eyes left them hard as coal. "Very well."

Sajantha wanted to scream, or cry and bawl like the child he had called her, and instead forced her face into a stiff mask she knew she couldn't maintain for long. She had to get out of here.

But she had to save Imoen.

"_You must act as a loyal guild member at all times or our cover will be destroyed," _Yoshimo had warned.

"We'll do it," she spat out, turning quickly on her heel—hopefully before he could see the mess of her mask breaking—past a bewildered Jaheira. The druid probably got off one last glare before she followed a short step behind.

Down the stairs, she was past the rest of her similarly bewildered companions, before her composure escaped her.

* * *

Sajantha burst out the door, the night air cool on her damp cheeks. She took in a deep breath, gulping in air between heaving sobs to try to calm down. Instead she got a heavy breath of the air moving in from the docks and abruptly retched. The fishy smells made her turn and spill her stomach just as her friends caught up with her.

"We will take up this task if you do not wish to participate," Jaheira said, her face tight with the anger that had been knotting inside her since leaving Irenicus.

"No," said the girl miserably, her head between her knees as she tried to discretely wipe her mouth. "I said we would, and we will. I mean, _I_ will… if you don't want to be a part of it, I understand." She tried to ignore the part of her that was terrified at the prospect… not the idea of killing an innocent man, but confronting a _mage_. She swallowed.

"Nonsense," the druid snapped. "None of us have any love for wizards… Cowled or _otherwise_." Her eyes slanted back to the building they had just left.

Minsc looked as if he wished to speak, perhaps on his departed Dynaheir's behalf, but wisely kept his mouth shut in the face of Jaheira's irritation. He certainly held no love for the Thayvian, nor for those who took Imoen.

They sat for a bit in silence, until Yoshimo returned looking serious. Sajantha gave him an inquiring look. She hadn't noticed him leave.

He began without preamble, with words as direct as his countenance. "I took the liberty of spying out this wizard, as his gate was left open as in welcome. Such a seemingly receptive man probably has any number of traps waiting for the unsuspecting intruder."

"How about for a 'suspecting' intruder, then? Is there anything you can't handle?"

Yoshimo wrinkled his nose. "Ah, but for the stink of mephits about the entrance I noticed nothing. He is either carefully concealing other traps, or we must wait until we get inside to make a judgment."

Mephits. Well, that was hardly a reason to despair and call off the whole thing.

She tried not to sigh as she stood up. "All right… let's go in then."

It was probably easier than it should have been. Not the battle itself, for he was—as Yoshimo had predicted—a wily and well-prepared adversary. The very act was what troubled Sajantha. A man was dead, a man who she had no prior affiliation with, good or bad. If he had been well-mannered and kind, would she have found herself hesitating? Although what wizard who encountered trespassers _that_ could possibly apply to, she had no idea. Had his arrogant and spiteful demeanor reminded her of _another_ wizard, whom she would gladly have squashed into the ground?

It was conceivable.

At any rate, their target was sufficiently deceased. The battle had drawn out as they waited for his defenses to dissipate, having to dodge spells and the odd fireball until their attacks could actually penetrate his shields. Sajantha felt guilty for her lack of participation in the battle, as wary as she was of magic she was unable to contribute much anyway. Once she would have been able to strip his defenses with a single word, and instead her companions were injured while they waited it out. They could certainly have used another wizard to take down some of his protective spells.

Sajantha hadn't realized she had said that last part aloud, until Jaheira gave her a considering look. "I hope you are not considering a certain _Red_ Wizard to fulfill that empty slot, hm? He is remarkably ill-suited to our company."

Sajantha startled. "As if he would join with us, anyway," she said, with a short laugh. But she couldn't help recall that the man's inflated self-opinion (as a magic-user at least) was largely deserved. That they were certainly lacking.

The group was quiet as they approached. Edwin was waiting expectantly, a sneer at home upon his face.

"(My lackeys return, and none too soon.) Has the Cowled fool been disposed of?"

"Yes, we took care of your little wizard problem for you." Sajantha said, injecting all the fury she felt at him, at their predicament, at Irenicus—at _herself_, into her voice. "Do you feel safer now?" It came across as childish baiting; a futile attempt to project confidence.

The spellcaster sneered. "Edwin Odesseiron fears no wizard! He was a minor inconvenience, only. (How dare she imply otherwise!)"

Sajantha thought once again of Irenicus, suddenly sure that Edwin had no ties to that maniacal mage, whatever Jaheira thought. Edwin was looking at her oddly, and she wondered what her face had betrayed. "I'm sure that's just because you haven't met the really nasty ones," she said with a manufactured huff.

"I _am_ one of the nasty ones, girl. Gethras was just a nuisance that needed to be dealt with."

As he spoke, Edwin had walked over to the desk behind him and sat down. Now he eyed them over steepled fingers. Perfectly manicured fingers, Sajantha noticed, and for the first time felt the whole of her bedraggled appearance. Dirty in used, ragged clothing. The bones in her wrists stuck out. How much weight had she lost? She recalled what Edwin must have seen during his initial inspection, and felt strangely ashamed.

"I've another mission for you then, one that does not necessarily involve any bloodshed at all. This task is the simple retrieval of some crucial documents, and you must be as discreet as possible. (As if these club-footed fools will manage.)"

"What sort of documents?" Jaheira asked; her tone suspicious. Sajantha grit her teeth, knowing better than to expect an answer.

He leaned back in his chair as he replied. "The contents of the documents are not your concern. Ask no questions you do not need to know answers to."

Sajantha was suddenly tired of the whole game. She felt _dirty_, in these clothes and in this room. Standing next to the red-robed mage in all his well-embroidered finery.

"Forget it. Just get it yourself, _Edwin._"

Edwin sighed, looked up at the ceiling. She was startled he didn't snap back at her. "Don't throw your life away over minor political documents from the Night Knives," he said easily, "Mae'Var is entitled to them; the Knives are apparently his secretive allies."

_Secretive allies?_ She and Jaheira exchanged a glance. Sajantha looked back at Edwin to find him watching with a knowing sort of smile.

"So the left hand can't hide from the right hand, is that it?" She asked, finding Edwin's dodgy behavior sort of amusing. She would deny that her pleased expression came from some sort of delighted surprise that he had actually _revealed_ it. That was completely unexpected.

Edwin merely smirked, taking her smile as an agreement. "You will find the documents on a merchant named Marcus. He may be found at the Sea's Bounty. Retrieve the document in any manner that you wish. I would suggest using guile (but such subtle means are beyond these monkeys, I am sure)."

"I'll have you know, monkeys have _very good hearing!_ And we can manage most anything!"

Jaheira made a choked sound behind her.

* * *

It was easiest just to pickpocket him. She wasn't sure if a more subtle sort of way existed, but she had no idea the measure of the bribe he might require and had no wish to alert him by suggesting one. And certainly no one felt up to _be_guiling them from him.

And really, she didn't need to add another murder to her tally. She was doing pretty well at it, daughter of Bhaal or not.

Edwin was waiting for them eagerly. "Do you have the documents I asked for? This matter is more important than your average simple correspondence."

"Yes," said Sajantha shortly, allowing Edwin to scoop the documents from her grasp.

He ignored her irritation as he looked through the papers with satisfaction. "Marvelous work, marvelous work. You've obviously exceeded your lowborn heritage and surged to the vanguard of goonery!"

She just stared at him, caught between trying to untangle that mess of words and wondering again what exactly Edwin was aware of concerning her 'heritage'.

"Never mind," said Edwin absently as he returned to the desk. "Now, I've conferred with Mae'Var, and there is a final task for you, a last test of loyalty. Go and he will give you your final assignment."

Jaheira began grumbling as she started down the stairs, but Sajantha stared at his back, suddenly wanting to ask him what he knew. About Irenicus. About her. How did he get involved in all this, anyway? What role did he play? She stepped up to his desk.

He immediately turned to glare at her. "Are you in need of directions, or merely wandering about witlessly? Mae'Var is in the basement of this dungheap, as if you didn't know. Off with you!"

Sajantha glared back, and stalked out. She supposed it could wait.

Mae'Var was talking to her companions when she arrived in the basement. Dungheap, indeed. If she had thought Edwin felt some sort of personal loyalty to this place before, she decided she was wrong. And his comment about 'secretive allies'… did Mae'Var have any idea what Edwin was aware of? _His left hand may never know what his right hand does…_

She turned her attention back to Mae'Var's whispery voice and dampened the urge to shiver at the crawling she felt up her back whenever he spoke.

"There is a...SHHHHHH! There is a TRAITOR amongst us!"

Sajantha thought her horror must have shown on her face. She thought at first _they_ had been found out, but surely Edwin, despite their differences, wouldn't have sent them down without a warning? Unless he didn't know… unless _he _was the traitor Mae'Var mentioned. She was suddenly afraid. For him?

"Yes, the one who has abused the trust we have given him! He must be dealt with in a permanent fashion."

She was suddenly sure that no matter how much Bloodscalp wanted them to get into Mae'Var's good graces; she wouldn't go against Edwin for his sake. Although she doubted she had much of a chance at succeeding, if it came to that.

Mae'Var's next words came as a relief.

"Embarl is his name, and you are to kill him with prejudice. He's at the Sea's Bounty northwest of the guildhouse. Bring me his dagger to show you have done the deed."

"Are you sure we need to… kill him?" Sajantha asked, forgetting for a moment to whom she spoke.

"There is no other way. Treachery must command the harshest penalty. You will suffer the same fate if you refuse. Anything short of obedience is treachery!" He was incensed.

She gulped. "Of course, sir. I should have…realized. We'll take care of it."

Mae'Var's mood reverted just as rapidly. "Good! That's the spirit I like to see! Show him what it means to be a Shadow Thief, and I'll have your reward here for when you get back. Off with you!"

Sajantha wondered if one of the two, right hand or left hand, had picked up use of that directive from the other. _Off with you!_ She smiled to herself, having no intention whatsoever of killing this Embarl. How hypocritical would that be, when her own objective was to betray Mae'Var? And Edwin's own loyalties were somewhat questionable…

This time the cool breeze, fishy though it might be, felt invigorating. Jaheira seemed to have picked up on her buoyed spirit. "It is good that this is the final of these tasks set for us. I've no taste for bounty hunting, but let us find this thief and have the deed done with quickly."

Quickly.

They found Embarl anxious to avoid spilling his guts with a knife, but quite eager to do so in a less literal sense.

With the information he had given them, and the knowledge Edwin had 'let slip' about the "Night Knives"… perhaps it would be enough to present to Bloodscalp. Or not. She left her friends to deliver the dagger while she went upstairs. She would probably need to secure the documents, herself.

Edwin appeared to be deep in thought, but still looked up as she arrived, his eyes sweeping behind her. He looked momentarily nonplussed to find her unescorted.

"Well, you have surpassed the exceedingly low expectations I had of you," he said, recovering swiftly.

"While you've been acting pretty much how I expected," she returned, fighting a smile. It was almost fun to dig for the compliments he kept carefully veiled in insults.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Then I wonder if this is an appropriate junction to surprise you. Your pretense of naiveté and wilderness manners is clever, but a Red Wizard sees more than mere appearance."

He lowered his voice, leaning forward: "You have a secret, Sajantha."

Sajantha's heart leapt into her throat, hammering wildly as she wondered if he spoke of her divine heritage… or lack thereof. If he could sense the void where her magic once was.

He smiled at her alarm. "I know why you are here, mashing your lips on Mae'Var's boots, and it's nothing to do with stipends or wages or other guild business."

"_Mae'_Var?" she repeated dumbly, wondering at the direction this conversation was taking.

He must have taken her reaction as another sign of her feigned 'naiveté'. "Don't insult my intelligence! (As if she could even comprehend it!) If you wish to maintain this lie then I will be forced to confront Mae'Var with my suspicions."

His meaning slowly dawned on her, and she almost laughed. "_Your _suspicions?" He was one to talk. "So long as they are only suspicions, I don't see how you can get me to admit anything." She had her own suspicions, after all.

Edwin watched her silently for a moment, and she was reminded of the intense gaze of a cat eying dinner. He walked toward her slowly, the hem of his robe whispering to the ground. A quiet stride; stalking prey. Her heartbeat sped up.

His was a voice that commanded arcane energies, summoned extra-planar entities, called down waves of fire. Whatever words he spoke, his voice held power, and as soon as he opened his mouth she was absorbed.

"I have heard the Shadow Thieves have a dastardly torture they use on traitors."

Her attention was riveted to his speech, how he was close enough that even his low murmur seemed to reverberate through her.

"They scoop the eye socket, making certain to do no damage to the nerves inside." He reached her side, leaning in slightly. A long nail traced below her eye down to the side of her mouth, a shiver running under her skin from cool to warm in its wake. "The eye dangles along the cheek, watching the rest of the body being eviscerated. You can't look away, and you can't blink." She swallowed. Her palms were sweaty.

He stood close to her a moment longer, reveling in her discomfort, before meandering back towards his desk. Her breath was coming quickly.

"Do you doubt my skill in persuasive techniques?" He asked rhetorically over his shoulder. "Or will you leave me with no choice but to present your head to Mae'Var in the hopes it will advance my own situation? Admit, it girl. As I have said, your posturing is transparent to me."

She wondered just how much he could see. Her heart was hammering wildly.

"Very well," Edwin began, and Sajantha realized with a jolt it just might come to a battle—and she was alone. Her pulse was a steady rush in her ears. She could feel the path his nail had traced on her cheek like a white-hot brand.

"A simple word from me and you die… or a simple word from you and you don't."

"What's your word?" Sajantha asked, some part of her distantly fascinated with the idea of goading him into killing her.

Edwin considered this a moment, tapping his lips absently with a long-nailed finger. "You look as though you've already been hit by a Ray of Enfeeblement. It might be a bit excessive, but perhaps Finger of Death, possibly, or… well, I suppose it is a little cramped to invite Abi-Dalzim."

"That's a bit theatrical, isn't it? What if I spoiled it all by having a charm that protects against that sort of thing?" Sajantha fingered her collar; an amulet could conceivably be hidden beneath it. If she had actually possessed anything that extravagant, she would have pawned it immediately. The rest of her clothing easily belied her.

Edwin was gracious enough not to snort in complete disbelief. He eyed her seriously, and she had the feeling he discerned and discarded all her defenses in that one look. "Doubtful. (Extremely rare, and even those are limited to one charge.) I think, however, a well-placed arrow of flame followed by a magic missile or two would do it. (Presuming she doesn't run at once screaming for her brutish friends.)"

Sajantha swallowed, feeling the familiar exultation of approaching combat underneath this veil of…apprehension? Fear? Any one of those would be enough to put her out of commission, even if they didn't downright kill her. She had never been so frail. Enfeebled, indeed. "That's it? I'm insulted." She gave him her best self-assured smile.

Edwin narrowed his eyes. "As am I that you think I would tell an enemy how I plan to kill him beforehand." He muttered a word and flicked his hand, and magical energies began to gather.

Sajantha froze, even as the bolts began to shimmer around the man who cast them, encasing him in a solid embrace. Stoneskin.

He cracked a smile at her, his teeth standing out white from his stony countenance. "Just getting prepared," he murmured, as he began another spell.

Sajantha felt that smile like a crack in her own resolve. At once it broke. "You obviously already know why I'm here!" she shouted over his chanting. "Why are you making me say it?"

His fingers flew, tracing runes, unfamiliar symbols in the air, a blue haze spreading, her skin began to itch madly—a frenzied fire burning beneath it—

"Is Mae'Var listening? _Fine! _I'm here to spy on him!"

The light dissipated around them, fading to invisibility as it reached the edges of the room. Her skin tingled.

"Hm," said Edwin dispassionately, "I wonder if my silence ward managed to catch that."

She stared back at him in open mouthed disbelief. A moment passed in silence, before they both moved at the same time—him to the door, she to what? shove him?—just as a crossbow bolt shrieked through the air and thudded through her. The gasp of surprise had barely escaped her before a rush of pain bowled her to her knees. Edwin threw out his hands, a jet of flame flying over her head. Sajantha crouched down further with a strangled whimper as she felt the heat of it, the _power_ of it, shooting by her. An abbreviated wail confirmed the fire had connected with her assailant, and Edwin turned to her, impassive once again. A smoking ruin lay unmoving behind her.

"You have hurried events… much sooner than I had anticipated. Your stubbornness is certainly taxing."

Sajantha realized she was staring at him with another stupid expression on her face, and rushed to think of something, ignoring her arm. This was an ordinary pain. She could deal with it. She had avoided a magical confrontation after all.

"Well… I guess Mae'Var was right to be so concerned with traitors. Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean …" her words dissolved into laughter a touch hysterically, until she grimaced as the barb in her shoulder suddenly hampered her mirth.

Edwin raised an eyebrow, bending over her. "I suppose we should enlist one of your more pious friends to pray that away for you."

She quickly looked away. It hurt. It _hurt. _But it was a clean pain; it cleared her head even as her body ached. Irenicus had been her first instructor in suffering, and she could not imagine encountering the measure of him again. She had survived him. Whatever else was left of her now, whatever he had made her, she had _survived_ and this sharp throb was _nothing._ "It's not a problem."

"Oh yes," said Edwin. "Just fall apart here on my floor, and please remember to leave a disclaimer for your friends that I had nothing to do with it before they assume otherwise in a predictably violent manner."

Sajantha ignored him, bracing herself to pull out the bolt. Edwin looked astounded that she had chosen to disregard his advice. "Ahh…" he floundered, as he realized she meant to tend to the wound herself. He rummaged through one of the nearby dressers and removed a bundle of clothing, which he dumped unceremoniously next to her.

"They're certainly cleaner than what you're wearing," he sneered. Sajantha gave him a confused look. He seemed almost frantic as he gestured at her wildly. "For bandages, girl!" Her mouth made a small 'oh' of comprehension as she returned her attention to the injury. She jerked down her tunic from her shoulder to see it better, but couldn't completely remove her arm. Fortunately the fabric ripped easily.

Edwin straightened as they heard a thunder of footsteps up the stairs. The bolt came out with a hiss of pain escaping her lips, a rush of blood, and she reached for a scrap of the loose clothing to apply pressure as Edwin stood, ready to fling whatever further firebolts might be necessary.

Minsc reached the top first, attaining his full berserker fury as he spotted his long-time adversary looming over his bloodied companion. He threw himself on Edwin without more than a battle cry demonstrating his wrath, and began to viciously pummel him. Edwin didn't move (aside from an initial staggering), nor did he look particularly impressed. Pieces of stone coughed into the air, a cloud of dust settling around them like a glow.

Jaheira knelt beside the young woman, making an angry noise. Whether it was directed at her self-healing attempt or the one-sided battle (which she was managing to ignore despite its noise and proximity), Sajantha wasn't sure. "Keep holding this," she instructed, beginning to tear strips for bandages.

The druid must have realized quickly that Edwin was unlikely to have used a crossbow (nor was there one near him) if he planned to injure her companion, but she did nothing to rescue him from Minsc's attentions.

"Why don't you hit a little harder, worm? I almost felt that one." Edwin sneered at the barbarian. "(Though none too soon I will be feeling a lot more…)"

Sajantha, feeling light-headed, glanced behind her as Jaheira tightened the strips of cloth around her makeshift bandage. She could make out the diminishing of Edwin's Stoneskin defense. Minsc saw it as well, for he seemed to have reached a renewed vigor with his blows.

"Minsc!" she shouted, anger at Jaheira for not reining in the warrior herself lending her words volume, even as the effort dizzied her. "It's okay, you can stop! He didn't hurt me."

Minsc slowed his strikes and looked back at her, though he did not cease them. "The evil wizard did not hurt little Sajantha?" She shook her head, dizzied by even that brief motion, and Minsc finally stopped with a soft grunt of disappointment.

The fabric of the mage's robes abruptly flared red as the spell expired, and he stepped back from Minsc, whose fury only needed direction.

"Then who will answer for–" The ranger broke off as he at last spied the charred corpse nearby, and glanced over at Edwin with grudging approval as he recognized his handiwork. "A fitting end to those who hurt Sajantha! The boot of justice is never far from their backsides, whosoever it may be that does the kicking!"

Edwin, who for a moment had looked almost pleased, recovered himself to appear sufficiently disgusted. "(Alas, the helm of wit-preservation appears to have been removed prematurely.)"

"What exactly took place here?" Jaheira asked, before Minsc had a chance to digest Edwin's words.

"Your distinguished leader revealed to me your true purpose here, and was…unfortunately overheard." Edwin came to stand nearer them, brushing his robe off. He remained just outside of Minsc's reach.

Sajantha expected a disappointed glare from the druid, but Jaheira only pursed her lips in disapproval while staring down Edwin. Sajantha recognized the continued suppression of Jaheira's helpless rage, and felt uneasy as she anticipated the inevitable outburst.

"And now this one who overheard is conveniently…dead?" Jaheira looked ready to spit nails. "Where are you in all this, wizard?" Her anger, which had been simmering silently for hours, at last boiled over. "Why do you now work with the Shadow Thieves, and what is your connection to our capture by Irenicus! Khalid is dead and _I will have an answer!_" Jaheira had stood to shout, and Sajantha clumsily rose up after her, wincing.

"If your whining husband is dead, druid, it is nothing to do with me..." Edwin glanced sideways at Sajantha, swaying on her feet. "And as for answers, you must go much higher than I to be satisfied. My association with the Shadow Thieves has been accomplished for reasons of my own, none of which has anything to do with you."

Jaheira's eyes were flashing, and it looked as though her next attack might not stop at verbal. Sajantha hastily broke in, taking a step closer to separate them. Her blood throbbed through her, a steady rush in her ears, a steady pressure in her shoulder. If she gave in and fell to the ground, would they simply step around her and continue fighting?

"Well, you'll have to, um, forgive us if we find that a little difficult to believe," she said, forcing a smile at Edwin. "I mean, it seems like we're always in the middle of these circular plots of deception and intrigue, and… not so used to things 'not having anything to do with us'." Sajantha said in what she hoped was a placating tone.

Edwin hardly seemed mollified. "So it is not only the Harper who cannot fathom anything being outside her business? Bah! Believe what you will, I have had nothing to do with you lot since I left you in Nashkel, nor would I wish to. (Aside from hearing about that little debacle in the Promenade, though my inquiries there were purely of a magical nature.)"

"Nor would _we_ wish it so, but here we are," Jaheira pointed out.

"Must you keep sending me such suspicious glances, woman? I have saved your hare-brained leader and yet I must continue to suffer your baseless concerns and mistrust!"

"Saved me? You were going to kill me!" Sajantha said incredulously. Jaheira's eyes narrowed at this, and Minsc growled. Yoshimo wisely seemed determined to stay out of it, folding his arms and observing silently from the doorway. Half his attention seemed to be down the staircase, alert for additional eavesdroppers.

Edwin had drawn himself up in a huff. "I was not going to kill you, fool! (Unless she was planning on informing Mae'Var of my deception.)"

Jaheira looked unconvinced. "Deception? So you _were_ aware of Mae'Var's betrayal. Just what were you planning on doing about it?"

Edwin sniffed, brushing off more imagined fragments of the Stoneskin spell from his clothes. "I plan to be on the winning side in this affair. Mae'Var had a small chance of overthrowing Bloodscalp, though your presence here implies he has lost even that."

He shot an angry look back at Jaheira's frown. "Yes, I know why you are here!" he snapped. "And as it happens you'll find all the proof you require in Mae'Var's quarters. I conveniently have a key that opens the strongbox it's in."

They stared at him in varying states of comprehension and doubt.

"Oh, is it so hard to believe the Red Wizard is on your side, even though he has most wickedly betrayed his employer in a demonstration of the unwavering foulness of his character? Mae'Var is out of favor. I am no fool to ally myself with him and suffer the same fate!"

"And you were just going to keep sitting on all this evidence until we showed up to take care of it for you?" Sajantha was curious.

"You aren't the only one stepping over Mae'Var's bones for a profit, you know. Why would I not wait for the opportune moment? Not everyone is in a hurry to rush into things on the blind trust that the universe will save them from their own stupidity. So shall we get moving that you might be on your way to whatever inane little quest spawned this mess to begin with?"

Sajantha was gaping at him again. "You… know me too well."

Edwin looked exasperated. "I don't presume to know you _or_ what goes on in that little head of yours at all! (The very thought makes me claustrophobic.) But you wouldn't be dirtying your shoes in the Thieves Guild if it were not for some larger 'noble' cause, am I right? No, do not answer. I have no wish to become caught up in it as well. (Nor am I wondering just why the druid's healing talent seems to have escaped her when it is needed.)"

"My talent has not escaped me, wizard!"

"What? I said nothing. As it happens I've my own retainer to collect for this particular betrayal." He stepped back, brushing his hands together. "I'll not wait about for you monkeys to finish your work. Mae'Var's office is on the floor below... and here is the key that will let you into his strongbox."

Sajantha stuck out her hand, and a small gold key was deposited unceremoniously into her open palm.

"I hope your stay in Amn is a pleasant one," he said insincerely and with an unconvincing smile as he stepped out of the room.

Sajantha waited til the door closed before wobbling once on her feet, before sinking to the ground.

Another crisis averted.

The exhaustion might do her in well before her injury. It wouldn't do to fall asleep in the very house of the man they planned to betray, while in possession of the proof of it.

Jaheira looked down at her worriedly. "I will find you some herbs," she said. "It has been a time since I had to rely on aught but my magic for healing, but this will be done as best as we are able."

"I may know of a merchant or two that deals in such things," Yoshimo offered, "that is open at this hour." Jaheira gave him a smile, tight but grateful. "This wants doing sooner than late," she said, stepping up once again to take charge.

Sajantha, the part of her that was lucid, was grateful. "An herbalist? With some tea, perhaps, as well?" she hoped.

Jaheira raised an eyebrow at her, her expression wavering between fondness and exasperation. "Minsc, see that she gets back to the inn? We will meet you there soon enough."

"It will be done!" The ranger agreed heartily. "Come, little Sajantha, let us be gone from this place." He lifted her easily, and she made only a half-hearted protest. His armor was a bit jarring for comfort, but the relief on the rest of her body was immense.

* * *

"We need to give these to Renal," she said, once they were down the steps, outside. The documents had been just as Edwin had said, a fact which surprised her, as she belatedly realized how close they had come to walking into a trap. If he had chosen to betray them, it would have been done easily, right here, with Mae'Var and his men waiting... but he had not. Then again, he was right, not a fool—an alliance with Mae'Var at this point was hardly wise or profitable. She should not be surprised.

The cool air felt wonderful, if you didn't mind the smell. She tapped the documents against her escort's broad chest.

"To the inn, Jaheira says, and I will not be the one to cross her! Nor do you look especially well, Sajantha, if I might say. You could use a rest, I think."

"Yes, well," that was entirely true; she wondered how awful especially she looked. "It's right on the way, though, and we don't want anything to happen to these before we can return them."

"This is true!" he agreed after a moment. "Will you be alright to walk? Minsc does not want you to hit your head," he gestured at the doorway they were approaching.

She smiled and slipped down carefully, ignoring the protest of her upper left side and allowed him to pull open the door for her.

One of the thieves was leaning over Renal Bloodscalp's shoulder whispering something as they entered the basement hall. He held up a hand, and the man hurried off. The guild leader put a smile on his face as they approached him.

"Ah, Sajantha! You've brought news, perhaps? You've brought some evidence of Mae'Var's foulness? Do tell."

Sajantha held out the documents. "I have some papers here that show he was involving himself with the Night Knives… all the evidence should be here."

Renal took the papers, perusing them with interest. "Is that so? Hmmn. Now, that is unexpected." He looked up with a predatory smile. "Fortunately, it's more than enough to damn Mae'Var completely." He handed the papers to someone behind him. "I thank you, Sajantha, for providing this."

She nodded.

"I do hope your injury will not hinder you overmuch from doing what needs to be done?" he asked, eying her discretely. "Only the last part of the deal remains to be carried out. Go and eliminate Mae'Var then, with my full authority. Do that and this business shall be finished, finally."

"Aren't we done _now_? I don't remember agreeing to anything else," Sajantha protested. "I'm no assassin."

"Did I accuse you of being one? Certainly not. It has, however, become necessary. You have been in Mae'Var's company and seen the ruthless nature of the man. If you will not do this from moral outrage, I will compensate your mercenary side."

Mercenary? She opened her mouth to protest further, but they needed the gold, didn't they? Mercenary, indeed.

She had said she would kill for this. For _her_.

Murder.

"He values no life over his own, and is not shy about cutting them short. Ask the men he tortures, or the brothers he would betray." She thought of Lin, of Embarl. Of scooping eye sockets.

Of Irenicus.

Renal folded his arms, looking at them dismissively. "Well, the choice is yours. If you change your mind and wish to collect, I would consider it. I wouldn't wait too long, however. Eventually I'll do it myself."

She couldn't kill Irenicus. Was Mae'Var more in her league? They left the guild in silence.

* * *

The Copper Coronet was dimly lit and obviously the seediest sort of tavern. Of course, its very location in the slums was enough to lend it a neglected, dirty air. It reminded Sajantha, not pleasantly, of the Blushing Mermaid of Baldur's Gate. She had stayed here two nights, but nothing about it was comforting, familiar. What it _was_ was cheap. And in the trend of things, she would give up more than comfort to save a few coppers.

Tonight, though... tonight she would have welcomed plush cushions and satin sheets, softness and silks and the relief of physical comfort.

Minsc walked her to her door. "Rest well," he said, his voice booming in the close quarters. Not in the least chagrined, he smiled at her as she waved goodnight.

Jaheira was not back yet. Sajantha surveyed the dark room with a sense of trepidation. _Rest._

* * *

Somewhere Sajantha tossed and turned.

Somewhere Irenicus loomed.

He was in her mind and she could see him there, hear him speaking, but it played out before her as if a trance—not asleep because she knew she was laying here, she could feel the bedsheets tucked against her sweaty skin.

She could hear him speak, just as clearly.

Hear his _voice. _That calm, controlled voice.

No. _No_. It wasn't real.

"Really? But the consequences are so very real. Your actions affect so many others than yourself." The surge of his voice brought her closer to him, rippling realities. Her mind bent and twisted around him.

She could see him, see herself standing before him, and yet feel the bed beneath her. The conflicting sensory input overwhelmed her. He wasn't here, she knew it. But. But...

"You will come to realize how little choice you have."

No. No! He wasn't real he _wasn't_.

She could see him behind her eyes, could feel her legs tangled in bedsheets even as she stood silently before him, beside Imoen.

He rippled, doubled: he was _here_, physically, by her sleeping body, she _felt_ him, she knew it with the frightful certainty of a small child that there was a monster under the bed, knew he was there even as she knew it couldn't be real. He hovered over her, so close she could feel him breathing. The figure in the bed stirred, moaned. His shadow over her – she drowned in it.

She tried to turn and couldn't move. It was impossible, she knew it, for him to be in her bedroom in Athkatla, but she could *feel* him watching and the terror that filled her, unable to escape,to move—although she could cry, someone was crying—

—wanted to jump out of her skin, he was so close beside her at the edge of her vision; always the periphery (could she handle him closer?) She knew if she opened her eyes she would see him.

Real.

"You will do what you must, become what you must, or others will pay for your cowardice."

Imoen collapsed with a cry, bonelessly, and Sajantha felt her own body being pulled down.

Into darkness. Into a real, definite sleep. Where he waited, completely in control.

No.

_No._

With all of her strength she gathered, let loose a yell, hollering and pulling and tugging and _threw_ her self—her selves—threw the bedspread violently, a rush and a tumble and a tangle on the ground. She hit the floor, rolling—enough to knock her awake, if not alert. To find herself on the floor, tangled in sheets.

She blinked.

The room mocked her, mundane and ordinary. There were no monsters in the corners. Her heart was still pounding.

She lay a hand to her chest.

Her shoulder screamed in protest—a cry that echoed, tenfold, down her arm, her side—a fire, a burning

_knives_

Jaheira – she whimpered – the emptiness of the room was no reassurance.

It had not been a true sleep, perhaps only minutes here, trapped.

Jaheira.

Her arm cried, she wanted to – sobs caught in her throat, breath coming too fast to loose them.

She stood up, wavering, fell against the door and her body shuddered. Jaheira.

Jaheira would help her.

His voice still rang in her ears, an actual physical echo interwoven with her pulsing heartbeat. _You *will* accept the gifts offered to you._

She was shaking so hard even her breaths trembled out.

* * *

The noise in the common room, subdued as it was for the hour, blew over her like a wave, a rush of sound and sensation as the door closed behind her. The smells from the kitchens—the thought of food—made her wish to retch, but so single-minded was her pursuit she simply stumbled through the disturbing sensations, to – to –

"What's this, then?"

She had time to register a leering face, a red face, a drunk face—but had stumbled on through them, going past while it was still processing.

Jaheira.

The terror from her nightmare was fading, reasserting itself in the reality she faced. The other man at the table stood up, blocking her path.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Leave me 'lone," she mumbled, lucidity descending upon her suddenly with just as much force as the nightmare had gripped her, just as unsettling. What was she doing?

Stumbling around in a less than reputable establishment, half-delirious, and managing to trap herself between two drunken oafs.

_Fool girl_

Her eyes moved where she could not, darting for any escape. And... and she saw him.

She was almost surprised to find a familiar face; didn't his tastes run a bit more luxurious? But she would not question her luck. Those red robes could mark no one else.

"Edwin!" Sajantha hurried over to him, avoiding the leers—the looks that followed, reaching after her, as grasping as their hands—of the two men, two men whom she would have pounded into the ground in normal circumstances.

_Normal. _

She realized she had never had to deal with their like before, not at a disadvantage. Even when she was younger, still coming into her powers... she recalled one musical performance at the Inn, one drunken lout troubling her, _frightening_ her—and who Winthrop had bodily tossed out on his arse, with little ceremony. Since then, between her skills and confidence she had no need to fear such types; the types that preyed on lone, helpless women. And now was she such a type? Where were her skills, where was her confidence?

She did not pursue that thought and the ring of despair that accompanied it, could not _let_ herself, and focused instead on the man in red before her.

He turned with a scowl, narrowing his eyes as he sized her up, eyebrows rising at her quick approach. He looked past her, tilting his head. Whatever he saw—she _knew_ what he saw; the men standing, perhaps halted in their tracks if Edwin's curling gaze was enough to get through their ale-clouded heads—perhaps even now they wavered and returned to their seats, for he was smirking, now—smirking at her, no longer above her head. She reached his table, and he shook his head slowly, as if to clear it, smiling.

"Ah! If it is not my old friend... ahhh... er... bah! It does not matter! I know an opportunity for profit when I see her!" He kicked a chair out so it bumped out from under the table, stopping as it collided with her legs and she stumbled.

"Thanks," she said dryly, rotating it and sitting down gingerly. She didn't look backwards, didn't want to know if they were still watching. Didn't want to think about the fact that two ale-addled men were apparently a match for her in her current state. Her shoulder throbbed.

"Now what is it you wish from me, or have you merely sought me out because of my enjoyable company?" The dark eyes staring at her over the rim of a large wineglass were mocking.

Sajantha didn't want to admit her incompetence, the leering men, whom she would normally be able to handle. He would guess as much, _had_ guessed as much already if he were not too far into his cups.

The air, sharp with the stink of spirits cleared her head as surely as it dulled those imbibing them. She said the first thing that came to her mind, what was always on her mind when the shadows retreated.

"I need some gold to rescue Imoen."

"Imoen? (Yes, the other member of that merry band of simians.) Why does the mewling little snippet need rescuing, if I might hazard the question?" He looked more interested in his drink than her answer.

"She's been taken by the Cowled Wizards for using magic in the city."

Edwin almost guffawed and set his wineglass down with a loud clank that surprisingly did not snap the stem. "You are a fool to pit yourself against such an organization for the benefit of that brat. But I wish you luck, all the same. (Fortunately words cost nothing.)"

Sajantha stared him down, beginning to suspect the glass beside him wasn't his first. He looked back at her with a distracted sneer. She leaned closer to him across the table. "I hope you didn't spend your entire stipend on drink," she said sweetly.

"What business of yours is it what I spend my…stipends on? I will not be hassled because you don't know the worth of… good coin spent well. Well-spent."

She was slowly inching her chair closer to him. "How much exactly did you make?" She asked, peering over his shoulder.

Edwin jerked away from her as if burned. "Step back, woman! (I have no idea what you are talking about!) My affairs are none of your business."

Sajantha braced her hands on the table firmly, elbows out as she leaned towards him, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder. "Well, you made _my_ affairs _your_ business when you joined with us and got us those documents!"

Edwin looked as if his wine had gone sour. "As if my doing that had anything to do with whatever mindless task you simpletons were performing."

"Right. You betrayed Mae'Var for _money_. How much?"

"My finances are none of your concern!" His face was getting quite red.

"I'm _concerned_ about my own finances! Anything you can contribute I'll return with interest."

"I am not so gullible as the rest of the monkeys you have gathered around you. Such poor investments do not appeal to me." Edwin sneered.

Sajantha was taken aback. "Poor? We made thousands of gold up and down the Sword Coast last year if you recall."

"And it is _conspicuously_ absent," he drawled.

"Heroes have an easy time making money," she shot back.

"And apparently an easier time losing it. (While normally I would approve of circumventing the heroic feats and arriving directly at the distribution of the gold, it feels different when I am to be the one distributing it.)"

Sajantha tried hard not to resort to begging, but couldn't keep the note of pleading out of her voice. "You know I'm good for it."

"Yes, yes, Miss Heroic Upstanding Citizen; model of virtue." He gave her a considering look, and Sajantha felt a flare of hope. "What is to guarantee you won't expire before my loan does?"

This was too easy. Sajantha nearly gaped at her good fortune.

Instead she beamed at him. "_You _will."

It was Edwin's turn to gape. "Me?"

"I hear you're quite an impressive spellcaster. In fact, your previous employer gave you quite the ringing endorsement." She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "You know, before his untimely death sentence. And while his judgment was, we can agree, a bit questionable, he has graciously left you without current employ." She spread her hands, the numbness in her shoulder traveling to her fingers. "I'm sure you'll be capable of protecting your investment."

"_More_ than capable," Edwin snapped, flustered, beginning to realize he had been played.

"So it's settled! By how much will you be enriching my coffers?" She waggled her eyebrows at him.

"…Ah, well, er… naturally, I have my own expenses to take care of…"

"…Naturally." She waited expectantly.

"(Blast this wretched predicament!) I suppose I might… be able to contribute… Five thousand gold. Though it pains me to no end to do so. (Damn the woman!)"

Sajantha frowned. "That's a pretty low price to place on betraying a man you were once close to."

"One would hardly call it close," he said, recovering his usual sneer.

"I mean," said Sajantha, feeling flustered for the first time in the conversation, "as his right-hand man. I doubt anyone would get close to Mae'Var."

Another voice approached the table. "And I doubt _Edwin_ would get close to _anyone_. Provided money was not involved."

Jaheira.

The relief she had expected the druid's presence to prompt was instead a brief flare of panic. Guilt. She had told no one of her plan to enlist Edwin's help—or rather, gold—and she had basically recruited him without consulting any of her companions.

"I see your Harper tendency of interfering with others doesn't stop at conversations," Edwin observed sourly.

"We're actually making a transaction right now," said Sajantha. Gods, she would never hear the end of this.

Jaheira looked skeptical. "I would not think you would stoop as to be involved with the only sort of transaction that man is familiar making with women. We will _never_ be so desperate."

Edwin only smirked. "Speak for yourself, druid. It has already been agreed. I have paid an exorbitant amount for this and promise she will come to no harm."

Sajantha blushed and jumped as she felt his foot under the table—she had forgotten they were so close!—but it was only what she assumed was a bag of coins containing the money he had promised being pushed towards her.

Jaheira was watching them with a strange expression that boded no good.

Sajantha recovered herself enough to roll her eyes and scoot a bit farther from Edwin. "No, he's just kidding. I mean, he's not—he _is_ going to help us out, but he's really not—I mean, _I'm_ not… um…" she stopped herself.

Edwin looked thoroughly amused. "Yes, I have… contributed to the 'rescuing Imoen' fund."

Jaheira's calmness surely concealed an approaching storm. "How unlike you." She turned to the bard. "How did you manage this, Sajantha? By promising him a year of service?"

Sajantha squirmed a bit. "Well, first pick of all the scrolls and magic stuff the Cowled Wizards have lying around and the added benefit of traveling with a recognizable hero and the resulting elevation in status!"

"I consider it a _reduction_ in status to be grouped with you lot," Edwin grumbled, though Sajantha had seen his eyes gleam at the mention of magical treasures.

"Yes, yes, your objection is noted," said Jaheira, apparently noticing it as well. "Now, are you two ready or will you continue to discuss late into the night how much of the Cowled Wizards' treasures to give Edwin."

"And gold," added Edwin.

"Oh, yes," said Sajantha. "With interest."

Jaheira gave them a hopeless look. "Unless this 'transaction' is to be continued… _elsewhere_, I suggest we get some rest."

Sajantha couldn't stop the furious blush from rising onto her cheeks, gaining heat as Edwin noticed and smiled at her knowingly. Bastard.

Jaheira was kind enough to wait til they were on the way back to the rooms before laying into her. "What were you thinking?" she said, condensing all the angry force of a yell into a quieter, no-less-frustrated enunciation.

"I was looking for you," she began, knowing the druid would not take well to her shifting the blame. Instead, Jaheira's eyes widened. "Your wound–!" she said.

Sajantha fingered the bandages distractedly, surprised at the blood on her fingers.

The pain of it seemed to go in and out of focus, wavering according to her attentions. Had she always been able to compartmentalize so successfully or had she learned it from Irenicus? She couldn't remember having an injury half so serious, not for any length of time; there was always magic to offer relief. Numbing, instant relief.

_How many times? To repair the body, simply to break it again – _

She shuddered.

Jaheira was looking stern, but the anger had left her, and she rummaged through her bags, murmuring, "All over town," she was saying, "to find the right ingredients—and then they were closed! So we have to settle on this lesser stock." She clucked her tongue against her teeth. "Well and good if we were away from the city a few days; I could find what herbs I needed... and Mother Nature graces her gifts free of charge."

Sajantha watched the druid preparing a poultice, her relief tainted by guilt. She did not want to know how much they cost. She could not hoard every copper.


	4. Day 4

**DAY 4**

The excitement that lit her face—had any been so properly enthused in being graced with his company of late?—and relief there as well; to be sure, a wizard of his ability would do much to simplify their situation. It was quite understandable to feel relieved. The girl just needed to keep a better hold of her emotions, not go blasting every thought on her face at the unwary. Still, it had been a while since he had been granted the appreciation he so thoroughly deserved.

It was... difficult to recall the exact details of this maneuvering, however fortuitous it might eventually prove. The little minx had bested him rather handily. He was almost impressed. Doubtless he would have seen right through her in ordinary circumstances, but still... not many got the better of a Red Wizard. Inebriated or no.

Yet he could not blame it entirely on the wine. She had overcome powerful foes equally as dangerous as he. It would be nice—_useful_—to have her around in case similar elements from his own past should be foolish enough to resurface.

He might have found the entire debacle amusing if he did not feel decidedly ill. The wine could be blamed for that, surely. Edwin rubbed his head.

The girl in question interrupted his thoughts with a piercing voice that clamored through his skull. Had she truly ever been called a bard? That screech would drive anyone mad. He shuddered. The common room had an unusually painful amount of noise for so few patrons, so early.

Sajantha stared at the man sitting across the table, leaning in slightly, favoring her left side. "So were you working with Bloodscalp, too? And then when it became apparent you couldn't get the job done he enlisted a convenient group of well-traveled adventurers to dispatch him instead?"

She was paying as little attention to her breakfast as Edwin was to his own. If his bloodshot eyes were any indication of the hangover he was nursing, she doubted he would be hungry for some time yet.

The wizard crossed his arms, leaning back slightly."You are quite adept at letting your imagination take the reins from your chronically unexercised brain. As I have said, I was working for Mae'Var long before Bloodscalp began to suspect his treachery."

"So he didn't put you there to spy on Mae'Var?" she pressed.

"Are you being so deliberately dense? (It must come naturally to you after all this time playing naïve.) No one 'put me there', girl. I am perfectly capable of taking action without first being directed by some self-important aristocrat or at the behest of some helpless villager."

She was momentarily at a loss. "Does Bloodscalp count?"

"Yes, 'Bloodscalp counts'," he mimicked her. "I assume he still wishes for you to 'dispatch' the fool?"

"He certainly does," Sajantha agreed.

Edwin frowned. "You must be a madwoman to leave him waiting! It would have been best to take care of this immediately. By now he will have barricaded himself in with his men. (Though they will be no more match for my spells than any uneducated simian.) I am surprised none have been sent after you even now."

She couldn't help a glance behind her, ready to stick her tongue out at the wizard if he teased her for it, but he kept her gaze levelly. So he wasn't kidding. She swallowed her expression and rubbed her eyes. "Did you want to help us?"

Edwin looked too shocked to argue for a moment. "You do not wish to order me, as a member of your merry band?"

"You _worked_ for him. I mean, it would be …unpleasant, I would think."

"Think you to overpower him without my aid?"

She snuck a glance at him, not sure if he was posturing or legitimately wondering.

"I don't _know,_" she sighed, cupping her forehead. "You're the one who knows about him. If you don't want to come, I'll just have to pump you for information beforehand."

"Oh, I will come," he said, a malicious smile curling into his voice. "I would not miss this."

* * *

Sajantha had endured too much of enclosed dim spaces of late, and the air—trapped in the slums, she hesitated to call it fresh, but outdoors there was at least a breeze—still invigorated her.

If one could ignore the stench of the unwashed beggars collected just outside the entrance and the stationary filth that ringed the alleys around them.

Edwin gave them a disdainful look, a barest shuddering as he complained to the air around them. "The time to slay the betrayer is upon us! We must be swift, else the Shadow Thieves mark us for death in Mae'Var's stead." He gave her a pointed glance, his voice dry. "This would be bad, understand?"

"We'll go as soon as everyone's back," she repeated, just as anxious to depart. She had not thought to regret the extra sleep they had allowed her.

"And how much longer before your lackeys arrive?" he asked.

"...Does that make you a lackey?" she had to ask.

He ignored her. "I wonder if they truly follow you," he said. "Or if it is more a relationship of convenience, as you are all headed in the same direction."

"It doesn't really matter," she said, "to _you_. ...Unless you are wondering what _you're_ doing here."

"I should not be? How _did _I get here, Sajantha?"

Sajantha made a face. "You... I had to manipulate," she said, squirming.

"That is no mean feat," said Edwin, grinning at her unexpectedly. "Pride is but one vice you should engage in from time to time."

She rolled her eyes, but found herself smiling.

"Although if I might recommend another..." his grin turned lascivious, and she jerked.

"Keep it to yourself, wizard!"

He looked close to laughing. "I would say: _greed! _You need these material resources now more than ever, yet you persist in flinging spare coppers at the unworthy. Greed would serve you—and _Imoen—_better than misplaced charity."

"Charity by its definition is misplaced wealth," Sajantha glared. "And how and what I 'fling about' is no business of yours."

He straightened, smile fading. "It is _very much_ my business when my participation in this enterprise has been founded on my wealth and the gathering of it."

Sajantha paused, compressing her lips. He hadn't actually _seen _her give those coppers to the beggar, had he? He must have just assumed, since word had evidently spread... if the growing crowd of them was any indication.

She sighed.

Edwin sighed as well, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. As if confronted with the actuality of making small talk with her until her friends arrived and finding it utterly distasteful, he abruptly excused himself. Or perhaps the beggars had scared him off. Or perhaps, if she was going to persist in being charitable, he really _had_ forgotten something.

Sajantha supposed there was no real way to hurry... They could hardly storm the stronghold just the two of them, not with her condition—the throb of her arm was enough reminder.

She couldn't help picturing it otherwise, in full power, two wizards (well, a Red Wizard and a wizard-trained) against an entire guild. She laughed quietly to herself, accepting its possibilities. With the right protective spells and equipment, one wizard as experienced as Edwin might be enough—had he the proper scrolls, of course. She couldn't think of any mage strong enough to deflect so many waves of assassins as Mae'Var undoubtedly had stocked on memorized spells alone.

Gorion – she bit her lip.

When he had run out of spells, he had drawn his dagger.

Sajantha wanted to end this, now, one less enemy to worry about breathing over her shoulder. The waiting was making her restless. If Mae'Var truly had sent someone after them, she would make quite the tempting target, but she could no longer bear to remain stifled indoors. And she could not complain, not when it had been she that postponed the deed so long already.

_Imoen... I'm coming. Hold on._

She took a deep breath, enjoying the wind tugging her short hair—her curls looser now, grown-out: nearly shoulder-length now, she realized with a distant surprise. Now, if she could just ignore the smell...

A few of the newly arrived beggars began to move towards her, and with Edwin's lecture fresh in her mind, without the bulwark of any companionship—she felt uneasy, alone for the first time in days. She glanced around uncomfortably, muttering under her breath—perhaps it would be for the best to wait indoors, after all—

The sun disappeared behind a cloud, the barest darkening and yet goosebumps stood out on her skin as she backed up. Backed up—straight into—a, a wall? A moving wall, a wall of metal, a wall that knocked the wind from her even as it bore down. She hit the ground first, from there granted a view of the large armored man continuing on for a few unsteady steps as he tripped forward caught in his own momentum.

Forward—

Her shoulder shrieked protest as she rolled out of the way. The man had saved her the further indignity of being stepped on, at least—but returned to stand above her, glowering. His armor glinted in the sunlight, shining despite its well-worn sheen, its numerous dents.

His face was red with more than scars. She could very nearly see the steam coming out of his ears.

Just what she needed. A large, infuriated warrior.

She twisted. _Where was Edwin?_

Something inside her laughed a little bit at placing the wizard directly in front of this four-horse-plow of a man; an explosive waiting to go off—though she had no doubt who the victor would be.

Just as she had no doubt who would emerge victorious between the two of them presently. The murder burning in his eyes—she had seen it often enough to recognize—drove out further thought.

"Calm down, Cohrvale," a different man said, sounding somewhere close by. Sajantha looked around.

"Mr. F. don't like ye killing people in the streets."

She spotted the speaker at last as he emerged from behind the oversized suit of armor.

Cohrvale was not about to be calmed. "Shut your mouth, dwarf!" His tiny, rage-slitted eyes turned to Sajantha. " As for you, get your _stinking hide_ out of my way!"

Sajantha swallowed, scooting backwards a bit with her legs. "You have my apologies, sir," she said, a distant part of her amused that she—this tiny, frail thing now—was apologizing to this great armored brute... from the ground where he had knocked her. It would be more funny if she didn't ache abominably. Yes, she would bruise from this.

"What are you apologizing to this cretin for, Sajantha?"

Sajantha closed her eyes, sagging in relief. She had never thought she would be so delighted to hear that particular patronizing voice. She glanced up at him, a smile on her lips for thanks. But the wizard had not taken his gaze from the two men as he spoke, and she recognized the challenging posture, the casual arrogance in which he stood. Cohrvale mimicked his confidence easily, hand flexing over his sword.

_Men_.

But she could forgive his posturing now, interesting as it was to observe without being the recipient.

The dwarf, perhaps recognizing a Red Wizard (or even just a wizard), now earnestly began to talk his companion down.

"Cohrvale–"

But Edwin's eyes were touching on her at last, however briefly, expecting an explanation.

She found her breath. "Oh! I simply judged the ground an excellent place from which to conduct a conversation on the weather," she said brightly. "Cohrvale here disagreed. Care to join me and prove him wrong?"

Edwin rolled his eyes heavenward a moment, muttering something too low to catch. Or perhaps _she_ was too low to catch it.

Cohrvale did not much approve of being ignored. He cracked his knuckles together. An impressive feat, in gauntlets. "Cohrvale will teach ye a lesson in respect." He bared his teeth along with his sword. "The price of my school is your life!"

Edwin lazily stepped aside, gathering energies in his hand as he did so.

"Now ye've done it, blasted fool!" The dwarf drew his own weapon, bounding forward.

Sajantha found her feet hurriedly. The bruises that did not yet show on her skin made themselves known in other ways. She stumbled.

A spray of magic flew from the wizard's fingers, knocking into the two men, sending them flying backwards.

Sajantha experienced the afterwave of it like a physical wind, surprised her hair was not blown back from her face. It felt like static electricity, tingling along her scalp, her arms.

Another spell followed on its heels, freezing the dwarf as he moved first—trapped in the process of standing up.

Cohrvale saw Sajantha slowly reclaiming her balance, and let loose a cry of rage as he resumed his attack in her direction.

She instinctively called up a spell—a spell whose components she couldn't recall, blankness doubling over her—resulting only in more dizziness, darkness—

"What in the bloody hells–!" Edwin shouted. She blinked, glinting armor filling her vision—too close—she braced herself. But there was no impact, nothing but another flare of energy—

Sajantha looked up to see Cohrvale reeling from Edwin's magics, and she felt as stunned as he looked, head spinning.

"Are you so completely useless?" Edwin's face was red as he stalked towards her, angrier than she had ever seen him.

It probably would have set her crying, normally, feeling his derision like a slap in the face... but this present danger was an effective enough funnel for her emotion. She could only stare back at him, eyes wide, and the air around them crackled with energy.

She thought at first it was Edwin's doing: some massive spell she did not recognize—but his own eyes widened slightly, only to narrow a half-second later. Sajantha recognized the magic belatedly as portals poured open around them. Like before–

The Cowled Wizards.

Cohrvale shook his head, recovering enough to be a danger again. She gripped the back of Edwin's sleeve.

Edwin muttered under his breath, interspersing profanities with the letters of a spell, adding words that should have disabled his intention, but still loosing a barrage of magical projectiles at their attacker.

"This is an unsanctioned use of magical energies," thundered one of the wizards.

Cohrvale, single-minded in his vicious intent, was still coming. Sajantha and Edwin shared a glance, shared a thought, both diving out of the way in opposite directions as the warrior rushed past them in a battle frenzy, straight into the Cowled Wizards, swinging wildly.

The air escaped her in a violent rush as she thrashed against the ground, and it was all she could do to turn her head and watch his progress.

His much abbreviated progress.

The mages reacted quickly when threatened, more ably than Sajantha would have given them credit for after witnessing their momentous failure in Waukeen's Promenade just days ago.

It was over just as quickly. She was impressed; Cohrvale had barely gained ground. All that remained to mark his attempted attack was a bubbling smear of metal. But where was the dwarf...?

She didn't think she could move again so soon, but the wizards were rounding on Edwin now, and concern prompted her to her feet. Enough adrenaline remained for her to complete the motion, albeit stiffly.

Edwin was grumbling something the other wizards were ignoring. There were a lot of angry hand motions, Sajantha worried one might turn into a spell casting. Could Edwin take on three Cowled Wizards at once? she wondered. Irenicus had taken on a _dozen_.

_And yet they had him caged?_

Sajantha felt a hand on her shoulder—her good shoulder—and whirled to turn just as a familiar voice boomed. "What goes on here?"

Sajantha gasped. "Minsc!" And Jaheira, and Yoshimo. She smiled at them unsteadily.

"You're covered in dirt," the druid scolded, looking past that to see her new injuries, the state of her older injury. She didn't look pleased.

Yoshimo answered Minsc's question. "The Cowled Wizards have apparently singled out our newest friend."

"He is _not_ a friend!" Minsc protested darkly, muttering: "Boo would have his _eyes_ if I did not restrain him." His large hands stroked the hamster fiercely enough that the small animal squeaked under the force of his consolation.

"Singled out...?" Sajantha asked, touching the rogue's arm. He turned to her, serious.

"The wizard was reprimanded for using magic within the city," Yoshimo said, "the same laws that Imoen broke."

Jaheira's eyebrows rose. "Indeed?" A strange light rose in the druid's eyes. Sajantha chewed down on her lip.

They all looked towards him then, the last portals winking out as the Wizards disappeared, outlining Edwin in the briefest flare of light. For the barest moment, Sajantha thought he might disappear with them as well.

She kept watching until he had closed the distance. Until he was within earshot.

"Edwin! You've been her for _months_, I thought! Why didn't you–"

Edwin looked almost as disgruntled as she felt. "They were investigating my activities even under protection of the Shadow Thieves, _if you recall_... and _evidently_ my association with you has brought me down in the world."

Jaheira, strangely enough, looked satisfied. With an almost feral smile she said, "What good are you to us now, wizard?"

The wizard gave her a disparaging glance. "Traditionally the attaining of a license involves little more than the exchanging of gold. We simply–"

"Gold!" Sajantha cried. "Are you–"

Of course he was serious. She sighed dejectedly. "Guess we don't really have a choice." Did she ever, these days?

The thought of parting with the first substantial amount of gold they had obtained so far... unless—weren't they _trying_ to find out where the Cowled Wizards took their prisoners? What better way than—

"Cast something again," Sajantha prodded.

Edwin gave her a cool look. "Beg pardon?"

"I don't think–" Jaheira began.

"Come on," she insisted. "If it would speed things along–"

Edwin grasped her plan immediately, and if his incredulous look was any indication, he was not on board.

"You truly think it would be best to face this Irenicus in chains?" he asked in disbelief. "(It is no wonder these incompetent fools need my assistance so desperately). Do you think it likely a mage of his caliber remains restrained?"

He held up a finger between them as if to threaten her lips, daring an interruption.

"Either the Cowled Wizards are powerful enough to have contained him, in which case you (and possibly even myself) do not stand a chance of breaking free of them—or he has taken leave of their ministrations and remains unfettered—in which case you will again be at the disadvantage. Really, if you tried applying the simplest amount of brain power (all that she could manage, surely) to the task at hand you would see this."

Of course it was never so easy. "I thought if anyone could do it, you could," she said, trying for a pout.

Edwin opened his mouth with the beginnings of a smirk, caught himself, and glared at her suspiciously. "(Transparent, I tell you!)"

"It seems you have already proven yourself worthy of our investment." Jaheira murmured, her sarcasm a thin veil of condescension.

Edwin's eyes flashed. "'It was not _I _set those Cowled Fools in place to demand recompense! (How _dare _they try to regulate the affairs of upper-level wizards!)"

Jaheira was unmoved.

Edwin glared at her. "Surely even you must understand: a mage cannot possible benefit you with an empty spellbook."

Sajantha flinched.

It was too late to disguise it; they had both seen it and turned towards her, Jaheira softening and Edwin frowning.

"He saved my life," Sajantha told the ground quietly.

"...I see," said Jaheira. Sajantha didn't look up to see her face, but imagined her surprise, imagined it did not lessen her glare for Edwin.

Sajantha was sort of surprised herself, as she said it, as it sank in.

If he hadn't come along...

He sidled up to her other side, evidently sensing the metaphorical winds had shifted in his favor.

"Care to tell me why you possess no license of your own?" He looked at her shrewdly.

"Sajantha has... an injury," Jaheira answered for her.

"Indeed?" Edwin said with interest, eyes flicking briefly to her most recent, obvious injury above her breast. She dismissed the urge her hands felt to rise, to cover it. "So it is not simply a matter of forestalling the expense?"

Sajantha shook her head. "Not exactly..."

"Ah," Edwin said with an air of satisfaction. "Have you finally abandoned your inferior connatural magic, then? Have the paltry few spells you've actually memorized been lost inside your sluggish brain?"

Abandoned...lost...yes.

"I—I have no use for a license, anyway," Sajantha admitted quietly. Had he figured out that much himself, already? She hadn't even seen her spellbook since ….before.

Edwin gave this the briefest moment of consideration. "And here I thought you would not break their rules even in defense of your own life."

Sajantha snorted. "Hardly." Damn their rules; damn the bunch of them. She would not have _sought _this weakness, would not have restricted herself on their behalf. She owed them _nothing_.

_You have power, if you wish it. _

Irenicus. She faltered a step.

Was she hearing him while awake, now?

_Will you cringe from what you know you want?_

She would be with him right now if she had possessed any magic, imprisoned as well. With Imoen.

_Instead_ of Imoen. As she deserved. Sajantha had been the one to _teach_ her those spells...

My fault.

* * *

The purse in her pocket, nevermind Edwin's contribution, had never felt lighter.

There was a mage in the Government District willing to part with an official license. She had been prepared for this 'exchanging of gold' but – "Five _thousand?"_

The entirety of what Edwin had pledged to their cause.

Surely the gratitude for him saving her life moments before should temper her anger somewhat. "Gods damn it, Edwin, you better be worth this," Sajantha muttered as she reached into her pouch.

"We both know I am," he said dismissively, "or else I would not be here."

It would be too unprofessional to stick her tongue out, wouldn't it?

Jaheira murmured something under her breath Sajantha imagined she would have agreed with, had she caught it.

Except there wasn't nearly enough to contradict him. Not even to knock him down a peg.

Infuriating.

"Seems to have canceled out your 'contribution' rather effectively, though."

Edwin put a hand up to his ear. "What was that? 'Heroes have an easy time making money,' 'Thousands of gold up and down'–"

Sajantha waved her hands at him, but he continued. "Your task will be exponentially easier, with me accompanying you –"

"Enough, alright, we get it. Never mind."

She hoped this had not somehow been his plan all along; the tables had certainly been turned—now, rather than Edwin having invested in their campaign she had handed it back to him. What tied him to them now? He could jump ship at any moment, free and clear. He had no real obligation. Nothing linked them but his word.

And after proving how much she needed him, needed magic...

"I gave you my word," he said, studying her. Aware what she was thinking? What did her face show? Too much, always, too much.

He could have left you to die, she reminded herself. Or just smashed to a pulp, whatever that lout would have done to her. She had seen that insane fire in his eyes; she would not have emerged unburnt.

"Consider this an exchange of trust, hm?" He proffered his hand, buffed fingernails glinting gently in the sunlight. She squinted at him. Was he _serious?_

_"Goodwill,_ then," he said, answering her hesitance with an impatient motion of his hand.

He must have known where that five thousand would go. (Five thousand gold, he had it counted out _exactly!_)

His hand remained steady.

But it had been a gamble, risking the Cowled Wizards...

In the end, she would be a hypocrite to begrudge him that. And she had to set some kind of example for her less-than-enthusiastic companions.

"Well, I _suppose_ it cancels out the time you tried to kill me, at least," she said graciously.

He scowled. "I never–" he broke off as she loosed control of her straight face, as she eased her hand into his own. His grip was firm, warm– a rush of energy running through her—

She stared at him, unable to understand—It felt utterly bizarre. All the more so did the tingle traveling up her arm, down her back. She dropped his hand, discarding the urge to wipe off her palms that he surely shared.

Perhaps it was the magic in his gemmed bracers she had felt. Still, tingling. She flexed her fingers.

Edwin's eyes were dark beneath his hood, too dark to read, his hands similarly retracted beneath his wide-sleeved robes as he crossed his arms. If he had felt something he did not show it.

Minsc was watching the exchange with confusion. "Dynaheir's enemy stays with us? It is all I have done to contain my rage these last days! Please, Sajantha, say it will not be so! And if it is so, let it be brief! Boo shakes with such anger I cannot blame him!"

Sajantha, already off-balance, turned to face the warrior. Even that small motion left her dizzy. It was a lot to ask, she knew—she knew of the political and social barriers between Thay and Rashemen, knew them distantly as only something far-off can be studied... never thinking she would be given the task of reconciling two of their citizens. And to be fair, she had never given Minsc's feelings any weight in this matter. His problems with Edwin were rooted more deeply than simple nationalism; they would be that much more difficult to overcome. If Dynaheir were here—it wouldn't even be an option. She closed her eyes a moment.

"Every group needs a witch," she said at last, burying the pain, the longing that statement evoked. "You said it yourself. And since _I_ can't be it, we need someone. Edwin knows what he's doing. He can help us."

Minsc looked baffled, and somewhat hurt, though it was no match for the expression on Edwin's face at being compared to one of the Wychlaran.

She took a breath. "It's...it's Irenicus, _he's _the enemy, now. Not Edwin. This isn't Rashemi versus Thayvian or good versus evil it is *us*—our group—trying to save our friend." She gave him an earnest look. "Whatever it takes, Minsc," she said gently. "For Imoen."

The ranger stared at her hard, reading her eyes for her sincerity and she felt another brief moment of imbalance—a hiccup of vertigo. Whatever else, Minsc was her _friend_ as well as her ally and she wasn't really _lying_ but she sure as all the hells was trying to manipulate him, as uneasy as it made her feel—he couldn't really leave them, not now—could he? Would he?

Edwin...

for his skill, for magic—

_...what would you do?_

She didn't know, and that scared her almost as much as Minsc's hesitation.

Minsc lowered his gaze, conferring with his furry compatriot before nodding at her. "We trust you, Sajantha. We will follow you." She gave him a watery smile, relief filling her, buoying her to face the last challenge—Jaheira.

She turned to the druid, knowing they should have finished this conversation sooner, without an audience. "You know why I did it," she said quietly.

Jaheira nodded once. "It is but one aspect of our circumstance I do not like," the half-elf admitted. "But... it is among the least of them." She shook her head, as if she couldn't believe it herself, slitted eyes daring one of them to dispute it.

"Yoshimo?" Sajantha smiled back at him. He shrugged good-naturedly. "I have no problem with him, aside from the one he seems to have with me." Sajantha frowned, glancing back at the wizard in question. He was studying his fingernails with a concentration so intense it could only be feigned.

"Well you would hardly be alone in that," she admitted.

"You will have no trouble on _my_ account," the rogue emphasized.

"Thank you," Sajantha beamed at them. "I know it will be hard... but it will be easier in other ways."

It had to be.

* * *

And it _was_ easier. Almost too easy, this business of killing.

Having a knowledgeable wizard on their side did much for their efficiency; Sajantha's dead weight hardly seemed to matter. Mae'Var hadn't had a chance. Renal Bloodscalp would be pleased. The Thieves Guild would be pleased. They were one step closer.

_She_ should be pleased. She should be _grateful_. She should thank him. After all the trouble they had gone to –

She shouldn't be feeling so pointless, so weak. The Red Wizard wouldn't seem so powerful by comparison, but she could not even _compete_. And Irenicus—how could she even hope to—

"This Irenicus," Edwin began, glancing over at her. Sajantha stiffened, and then tried to smooth her features over before she looked back at him. "Yes?" she asked tightly.

He said nothing for a moment. Studying her? She stared hard at the ground before them.

"The druid mentioned something of your capture, and then there was the... ensuing ordeal in the Promenade. I imagine that was your grand escape from him?" His tone was acerbic, but with a genuine curiosity beneath that nearly threw her off.

Escape? If only.

"Well, it was _some_ kind of escape," said Sajantha. "The exit led us straight to him, into battle. To the one place spellcasting is illegal."

She thought of the bone-deep relief she had felt as the sky came into view, the light breaking the darkness of the tunnels—the relief that did not last its exposure to air.

"Unfortunate," agreed Edwin. "Yet the mage was taken by the Cowled Wizards as well."

She gave a short nod.

Edwin nodded to himself. "Undoubtedly he is a powerful wizard to have subdued you and your whole party at full strength and give you cause to start in fear just hearing his name."

Sajantha opened her mouth to deny it, but he shook his head. "I doubt Bhaal himself frightens you so, but this Irenicus, he _has_ given you cause to fear him?"

"Yes," she said in a small voice. The ground received the full force of her frustrated glare.

Edwin looked triumphant. "(At last, to encounter a wizard of an ability perhaps reaching my own! I should love to set myself against him and—)"

Sajantha rounded on him. "You have no _idea_," she hissed, "what that man is _like_." Man, in the loosest sense of the word, in form, in body. She did not wish to know what else made him up. "We are not going anywhere _near_ him if we don't have to." Her heart, catching her anxiety, thudded frantically at the idea. Her shoulder echoed in recrimination.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure he is quite dangerous. You do have a better chance of surviving an encounter with him now that I accompany you."

"Not if you go _looking_ for him! We're trying to save Imoen, not go on some, some _revenge-_spree!"

"Who spoke of revenge?" He smiled wickedly. "Has your saintly nature been eroded by exposure to his dark magics? Are you even now preparing to succumb to your baser nature and embrace the call of the Lord of Murder?"

"No!" she shouted, unable to control the torrent of emotions sweeping through her. She stood there overwhelmed, hands clenched and shaking. "No," she said again.

Edwin looked as if he nearly regretted baiting her.

This was not how their conversations were supposed to go.

Verbal sparring that had never quite crossed any lines before now had. And only, she thought, because she had moved the line. She was supposed to hand him back an insult or insinuation of her own, and instead had let his goading actually _affect_ her.

It was his fault, she thought stubbornly, starting off the conversation sounding almost… human. And now, and now… he was standing there, his dark eyes unreadable, probably thinking of how best to defeat a man he had never _met_ while not knowing how to deal with an emotionally scarred woman… or even knowing that she _was_ scarred.

She took a breath. "Edwin," she said.

He watched her warily.

"What was that about my lineage before? What exactly do you know?"

It took him only a moment to recover his aplomb. "I know more than one of your limited intellect could ever hope to comprehend! (Although that matter is hardly the mystery it once was. By now the vastness of my own intelligence has been well-established and accordingly documented.)"

"Not to mention the vastness of your ego." Sajantha bit her lip, unsure if she wanted to continue. "Whatever you heard…isn't true. About Bhaal. He's not... he's not my father."

"Ah yes, that dubious honor goes to that Harper Gorion, does it not? (Perhaps the doddering old fool even enjoyed playing nursemaid. Though who can ever tell why Harpers do anything?)" He stopped at Sajantha's impatient look. "So we should clarify and call Bhaal only your 'sire'?"

He was still playing their stupid word battles, not expecting her to attempt an upfront conversation with him. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "No. Not even that."

"Really, Sajantha, you cannot have come this far and still be floundering in self-denial? As magnificently difficult it is to believe your stock is divine (as indeed it was a pairing of barnyard proportions), you must be the only one left in the Faerûn—"

Sajantha felt her temper spiking and found herself seizing the taller man's dangling moustaches to jerk his head down to eye level. His eyes rounded in surprise, quickly simmering into angry slits. She stared at him with a tinge of desperation. "You're not listening to me, Edwin. I'm _serious_, he—"

Jaheira chose that moment to appear, taking in the scene with a raised eyebrow accompanying her usual cool demeanor. Sajantha let go of the wizard's facial hair with a surprised squeak and Edwin hitched backwards, flailing his arms in an attempt to regain balance.

The druid ignored Edwin's antics and was watching Sajantha with a touch of concern. Edwin pulled himself up to disguise his fluster behind a stiff posture, and her gaze turned to him. He promptly sneezed.

"Yes, druid? You wanted something?" he sneered, as if nothing was amiss.

"Wizard," she smirked back at him, turning and promptly disregarding him again. "Are you all right, Sajantha?" Her tone was light but her eyes were worried.

"Yes," said the girl. "No." She sighed. "I don't know."

Jaheira frowned, and then stared pointedly at the wizard for several beats. Her eyes narrowed further with each second that passed.

Edwin wet his lips. "There is… business I need to attend to," he muttered, exiting their presence in what was very nearly a hurry.

Jaheira gestured Sajantha to the side. "What is it, child?"

Sajantha scowled after him. "It's impossible to have a conversation with him! He turns it all around so I never say what I was trying to and keeps everything off-track."

Jaheira pursed her lips. "It would help if you didn't succumb so quickly to his antagonistic approach."

Succumb? Sajantha was livid at the idea of _succumbing_ anything in regard to that man.

"Don't glare so, child. You look as though you've swallowed a fish. I would have though the two of you enjoy bickering like siblings by the amount of time you invest in it."

"I do not _enjoy_ it!" Sajantha said.

Jaheira gave her a pityingly look. "Then don't encourage him."

* * *

"Didn't Gaelan already tell you that the Shadow Thieves would be perfectly willing to help you out at the correct price?" Renal smiled, his enthusiasm over their disposal of Mae'Var still evident.

Sajantha had a hard time not being buoyed by that same optimism, not when he had paid them over ten thousand gold pieces for the job. They were so close!

And yet—secrets, still?

"Gaelan seemed quite unwilling to admit who he represented at all, in fact. He certainly left the words 'Shadow Thieves' out of it." Not that she should be surprised, honestly.

Renal smiled, half indulgent, half apologetic. "Raise your money for Gaelan. You will not be disappointed. That is all I will say."

Sajantha left his presence with a renewed spirit, her sense of urgency mitigated briefly with their success. They were over halfway there! A handful more days, at this rate, would see her reunited –

"Even if you cannot wear clothing with any enchants (as if even that would be enough to make her halfway presentable), it is no excuse to continue looking like a bedraggled street urchin."

"Wh-what?" Sajantha asked, drawn out of her thoughts into a decidedly unwelcome conversation.

"We need new supplies," Jaheira expanded, agreeing with Edwin but giving him a glare for good measure, "all of us."

"I'm not wasting any more money on _you_," Sajantha murmured darkly at the wizard. He spread his arms, showing off the evidence of his finery. _He_ wasn't suffering from the lack the rest of them were.

"We need to be properly outfitted," Jaheira said. "If your objection is to the expense, you should keep in mind your medicines cost no mean sum, themselves." She gave Sajantha a pointed look. "Though should you wish to circumvent _that_ expense, all we should have to do is make a foray into greener lands..."

Sajantha frowned. This again? As if she didn't have guilt enough? There was no _time._

"We must go quickly and save our friend Imoen! The wizard may be leering over her evilly even now!" Minsc interrupted, an echo of her thoughts.

Imoen. He had taken _Imoen._

Her anger evaporated. _It should have been *me.*_

"Imoen would not begrudge us being prepared," Jaheira said.

"The druid is right, my large friend. The wizard obviously had great power, and I doubt we have seen the last of him," Yoshimo said. "We must ensure we are as much a match for him as possible. Your friend would wish for our success, no?"

Sajantha, scowling helplessly at the ground, felt her attention tugged and resisted the urge to look up. She had no idea how to answer, if she was supposed to.

_I'm sorry. My fault._

Another mistake someone else was paying for.

Khalid...Dynaheir...Gorion...

my fault my fault my _fault_

Edwin let out a drawn-out sigh. "Have you heard nothing? Simply having me on your side will raise your chances considerably. Your gear is a trivial concern, at best."

"You just said we needed new outfitting!"

"Perhaps I was referring simply to your shabby appearance inspiring little awe. If your intent is to bowl over your enemies with amusement, that is another matter."

"Minsc could always use a bigger sword to better rend through evil! And some heavy armor would not hurt, lest they rend through Minsc," the warrior admitted.

"Spoken true," said Yoshimo. "Some sturdier armor would not be amiss."

Sajantha felt all her good humor evaporating as rapidly as it had arrived.

"You cannot hope to face a man who significantly overpowers you wearing secondhand clothes from an orphaned street waif, surely," Edwin was saying.

She gave him a disgusted look.

Damn it. Damn them all, for being _right._

She tried not to imagine their progress vanishing as rapidly as the purses she emptied, a physical loss.

* * *

"Try this on," Jaheira instructed, not waiting for reply as she enfolded the bard into new fabrics. Sajantha had sought lesser clothiers for her own outfitting; there were plenty with no magic accoutrements sewn into their wares—the garb of common folk, though the clothing she had chosen would serve functionality as soundly as any fashion. Greater freedom in the materials made it more than simply serviceable—even fashionable, if she had any eye for it.

The leather fastened under her arms, strapless, more like a corset than any functional armor she had seen—but it left her injury room free of chafing (and conversely, the potential for further injury, unprotected as it was).

No use thinking about _that_, likely any further injury would render her from useless to entirely obsolete.

The arms and armor the Adventurer's Mart provided would do better for the rest of the company. While they browsed, she found herself drawn to a display of magician's robes, wreathed in enchantments so thick it made her eyes water to set upon them. The sign before them imaged a hand, an eye in the palm of it; a twisted version of The Watcher's own signet—her breath caught. Vecna? Truly, this grand wizard's personal armor—wizard turned lich, turned _deity—_available for sale? Thirty thousand gold hardly seemed costly, if it were true. Could it be? She had encountered powerful artifacts in her own time, to be sure, amusing to wonder if they had ended up shelved in a shopkeeper's back room, somewhere. Or if Irenicus had found some other use for them. Her smile faded.

She turned to point it out to Edwin, surely _this _was not something he could turn his nose up at. Edwin. Where _had _he gotten off to...?

The Adventurer's Mart was not so large to hide in; a quick perusal determined his absence without a doubt. Evidently he had chosen not to accompany them on their little shopping spree. Just as well, Sajantha had been serious, however sufficiently his...heroism? Yes, almost, how that would gall him... however sufficiently that had overcome her oppositions she was not feeling especially charitable in the realm of coin. She had no intention of stepping up his wardrobe (would he even wear anything that wasn't red?), though she would not begrudge him his share of the actual physical loot.

...Although, as she thought on it, it was clear that a portion of the 10,500 gold Renal had granted them was due him as well. Due all of them.

Damnation! Had she really been so... so... 'buffle-headed,' Imoen would say? It hadn't even crossed her mind. Here she was, determined to scoop up all the coin they worked for, without a thought to sharing it with her companions—the ones doing the actual work—and resenting them for wanting to spend it on equipment to improve their efficiency, their value. Their chances of survival. And she did nothing, nothing but begrudge them for it. Her single-mindedness would have them running up cliffs without care to the sides. While she watched and berated their ill-judgment.

_I will use you up..._

No—_no!_ They were in this together.

If they fell, so would she.

The bard watched them, wondering how much longer they would be at it. She couldn't help running numbers through her head, couldn't help the calculations that jumped through her mind. No. She didn't want to know.

Let Jaheira deal with it. Sajantha left a goodly portion of the gold with her, who looked surprised at her generosity. The druid immediately discarded the armor she had been trying on, to Ribald Barterman's dismay.

Imoen—

_No. No! Shut up!_

She could feel a measure of satisfaction, leaving Barterman to Jaheira's haggling as she left the store.

* * *

The circus tent remained outside, unassuming for all its size: the sorcery that had so recently infused it was entirely vanished, replaced instead with a crowd of visitors—eager once the danger had passed to partake in its lingering mystery.

Scorn filled her already dark mood. They would have been content to leave the circus and her patrons to their fate, never interceding, and only now investigated to share the thrill of secondhand peril.

She could not countenance the rage that came upon her then, that clenched her fists and jaw, that built up inside her: the smallest spark fanned to roaring flame and filled her senses, her vision.

They would carry on, ignoring the danger, what others paid for, content in their ignorance. They would never realize how utterly insignificant their lives were or in what extreme oblivion they lived them.

The gnome could have killed them all, engulfed the entire district, and they would not be there, able to cluck their confabulations, able to sidle idly past, able to continue on the tread of their trivial existence.

How dare they—how _dare they_, when she could not—

As abruptly as it inflamed her, the fury burned itself out, leaving her cold. Empty.

She realized she was half-collapsed upon the ground. Too many people, each so intent on their own selves, shuffled past her, ignoring her. As they had ignored the destruction days ago, mere steps away... the rubble that had yet to be removed: A silent reminder, unheeded.

"Are you alright?" A quiet voice, overwhelming in its sincerity, its concern. Sajantha's head snapped up, meeting a face back-lit by the sun, features shadowed. Still she recognized the elf from the circus, the shy girl she had brushed aside.

Sajantha nodded mutely, clambering to her feet. The elf straightened. "You're the girl that helped us! I must thank you again, for saving me—for saving the circus," she said, blushing prettily.

Girl? Sajantha was amused, considering she had thought of the elf similarly—the _full_-blooded elf—who could easily be four times her age if not more.

"I don't know what my Uncle Quayle was thinking, truly—I meant no offense to you before," said the elf quickly. "I know... I know why you don't wish me to accompany you–"

Sajantha certainly hoped she did not.

"–and I'm sure you are right; I've never been outside in the world, hardly left the circus, even!" Her voice lowered, her eyes lowered. "I—I know it's not all marvel and adventurers out there."

Sajantha swallowed, chagrined to find herself so close to blinking back tears. "No," she managed, "it's not."

"If there is anything I can do for you, you must simply say the word!" the elf pleaded. "I hate to see anyone in pain, in trouble... if there is _anything_ I can do..." her gaze drifted down towards Sajantha's bandaged shoulder.

Sajantha bit her lip. That this woman should upset her internal balance so... she struggled for words, for eloquence, her wit a solid cloak of armor she drew round herself. "I thank you for your kindness, sweet elf. That such a gentle soul should continue spreading goodness is payment enough."

The elf looked embarrassed and delighted. "You remind me almost of the bards with that air!" she giggled.

Almost a bard... well, it was true enough.

"If you—I, I hate to ask anything more of you, but if you are truly seeking more work...?" she waited for Sajantha's nod to continue. "There are some friends of my uncle's—performers, all, at the Five Flagons... in the Bridge District—they are in some sort of trouble...one of their troupe missing, I believe. If you might... seek them out... I'm sure they would repay you!"

The Bridge District? They had not yet traveled that way. "We can look into it," Sajantha assured her. So long as their time would be compensated. It was hard to meet her brilliant blue eyes.

The elf looked pleased. "I am so glad to hear it! I wish you the best of luck. And—and don't hesitate, if you need anything..."

* * *

Sajantha peeked into the Mart again. The last few minutes had granted her companions little progress. Part of her was grateful they should be so conscientiously seeking the best goods for their price, the other lamented the new lightness of her purse, the extra time it would take to fill it, the time they were all wasting.

She could not watch.

She meandered a bit around the Promenade, distracted by a winding tune from one of the buildings. As she approached the door the music swelled, and she entered into an inn's common room, wealthier by far than the common fare she had become familiar with. The patronage seemed to consist entirely of nobles, the sort that wore their wealth on display as pointed as their arrogance. She had no place here, surely, the disapproval in their lingering gazes sought to drive it home.

Sajantha took a breath. Her new clothes returned some confidence, as well as her conversation with the elf—surely something remained of her old self. Surely her silver tongue remained when she could but grasp it.

She took a seat, nodding at the patrons who deigned to glance at her, unwelcoming all. She closed her eyes briefly, allowing the piano music to sweep over her. No master artist, this, but it had been so long since music of any kind had graced her ears. She felt a tingling, like a limb fallen asleep, and looked up.

Someone—watching her? More intently, directly than the rest; her back straightened uncomfortably— Sajantha turned around slowly, not wishing to appear paranoid, only to meet a familiar hooded gaze. She almost laughed at her alarm. He raised an eyebrow at her expression.

Smiling to disguise her uncertainty, she wove around the tables to his own, sitting down without waiting for an invitation.

"I see your improvement in attire has done nothing to amend your lack of culture," the Red Wizard sighed, leaning back. "Your social graces remain less evolved than a foundering gibberling's."

Belatedly she recalled their last conversation ending in recrimination and ...moustache-tugging. She felt her ear-tips go red, thankful they were hidden in her thick hair. "That's not... that's not very nice," she said. Foundering.

"If you are expecting otherwise from me it can only be a sign of the lamentable steepness of your learning curve." He shook his head, attention turning to the barmaid who approached them.

Sajantha glared at the side of Edwin's head, but he ignored her as assuredly as the waitress did, saving her smile just for him. He returned it with an almost proprietary grin. Sajantha expanded her glare to encompass them both to no effect. He ordered another glass of wine, and just as the woman made to move away Sajantha cleared her throat. "Amnian gold, please," she said sweetly, in a voice at odds with her challenging gaze. "And some blackbread."

The waitress looked to Edwin, who gave a quick toss of his head before she sauntered off without acknowledgment. Sajantha looked up, realizing she had been watching the woman go with disapproval writ loud on her features. She bit her lip, sank back.

He was watching her, infuriatingly smug. Was there anything about him she did not find infuriating? His magic. His skill.

Which he had used to swoop in and save her, embarrassingly.

Infuriating.

She tried to loosen her glare.

"This _injury_ of yours..." he began, eyes dropping pointedly to her bare shoulders, to where her new armor rose to hug her chest, displaying her bandages "...it has something to do with your misapplied conclusions?"

"My...my what?" Surely he wasn't staring at her breasts. However much the corset-ties did their best to suggest cleavage there should be nothing there to hold his interest; she could blame her elven blood for that— a skinny frame and flat chest. And someone else to blame for the scars that now crossed them.

His distracted look faded as he met her eyes, undoubtedly amused to find her skin tinged pink.

"Recalling our earlier conversation," he elaborated. "I find myself wondering what could have arisen to cast doubt onto something you had already come to terms with." He was stroking his moustache thoughtfully. Or maybe just to ensure she couldn't get a hold of it.

She should have known better than to hope he would forget that discussion; the thought of resuming it was suddenly as unappetizing as the dark molasses bread that had just arrived at the table.

"Maybe I never came to terms with it." She reached instead for her tea. The warmth of the mug alighted pleasantly on her fingertips.

"Perhaps, though I think that is not the case."

"Since '_as a Red Wizard you see more than mere appearance'_?" Sajantha tried a sneer.

He raised an eyebrow at her expression. At least she could consistently befuddle him with her face. Embarrassing.

"Indeed. So what has made you question your divinity? Most would accept such a heritage (even with its less savory aspects) without argument."

"Yeah, most power-hungry Red Wizards, maybe," she snorted.

Edwin gave her an maddeningly knowing smile. "Sajantha. You do me an injustice. What holds your tongue now when you seemed so eager before to divulge your secrets?"

She stood up, tea forgotten, unwilling to have this conversation. She would be a fool to even attempt an explanation.

"You'd know all about secrets, wouldn't you, Thayvian?" Her chair scraped loudly in the suddenly quiet room. Embarrassment nearly rooted her back to the seat as her sensitive ears picked up the insulting commentary. She wavered, grinding her teeth.

Edwin was smiling. "You are dodging a conversation you initiated yourself. Your party will remain as ignorant as you wish (and they are _unsurpassingly _ignorant). I am familiar with secrets. Yours will remain safe with me."

She stared at him a beat, felt herself slipping back into the chair almost without meaning to. Her remaining obstinacy folded as her body began to, and she sank the rest of the way into the seat.

As much to escape the stares as anything.

His was no better. His eyes, dark and fathomless, _penetrating—_already _knowing..._

Her breath caught, stomach clenched as she jerked her head away, unable to meet his gaze.

"I—I can't..."

_I can't do anything._

"You can't what?" Edwin asked, raising an eyebrow. "String together a thought? Is this a new revelation, to have struck you so hard?"

"You don't _know_," she said, voice grating out in a harsh whisper. "You don't know what he _did to me!_"

"Irenicus?" Edwin seized on this with something near excitement, ignoring her flinch. "No... I _don't_," he said pointedly.

Her small hands curled into fists, pushing at the table—away, away—but she did not stand up. She was not sure she could.

"I wasn't..." _good enough, strong enough._

"I'm... I'm _not_," she said, voice cracking, broken as the rest of her, "I'm not a Bhaalspawn."

"Then what are you," The Red Wizard asked, "Sajantha?"

_A weak, broken thing._

"Empty," she murmured. He _took, _he... She shook her head, lost. "I'll never get it back."

_You can never go back._

Edwin crossed his arms, still studying her. "And what have you lost? A handful of petty cantrips, a weak natural magic you never harnessed into anything useful? You were never an impressive force, Sajantha."

Red. It danced through her vision. _Are you so completely useless?_

"Not just the magic," she said, eyes heated.

"Then what do you refer to?" His own eyes did not waver.

She glowered in answer, slapping her palm flat against the table. "_Look at me!" _she hissed. White-hot pain lanced up her arm, blinding intensity. She saw white. Red.

Look at her weakness, her pathetic frail body, her shuddering insecurities... the wreck he had made of her. Look at the scars that formed a patchwork on her skin.

Edwin did look at her, frowning briefly; he appeared as unimpressed as their earlier meeting. His voice was dry, dismissive: "You are as useless as you believe you are."

And as defenseless. No way to stop it—it cut right through her.

"So you have already resigned yourself to being of no use?" Edwin inquired. "Most people have no idea of the level of their incompetence (and must leave it to others like myself to inform them), and continue to endanger and annoy those around them."

"Well, I make no promises to refrain from annoying you," she said coolly, her lips twisting.

The wizard gave a martyred sigh. "It would be quite impossible to expect it of you, even if you tried."

There was a strange pause in her darkness; a flash of light between the clouds. She realized she wanted to laugh. She did not want to feel the bleakness descend upon her again.

"Why do you believe you are not a Bhaalspawn, Sajantha?" Edwin asked, voice quiet.

Had she _ever_ truly believed it?

She ran her fingers through her hair, bending her head over the table_. _So long shying from these memories, and now... was there anything to be gained from recalling them? Could there be an answer, there?

Irenicus...

"He shouldn't have cared..." she said. _A weak, broken thing. _"If he treated me like a thing, and I broke..."

_and he did, over and over—*I* did—_

Memories shuddered through her, thundered in her head, the ghost of lightning whispering across her skin.

She couldn't. She couldn't do this.

It was all inside her head_, _a space she tried so desperately to _avoid..._

If she met Edwin's eyes she would falter. She stared at the table.

Irenicus...

His anger: a cold thing. Clipped. The edge of something.

Demanding, seeking. Always _wanting, _never finding.

She did not know what he sought, for he had not found it.

"I wasn't reacting the right way... to his 'experiments.' He was... so angry." She had thought any emotion would be preferable to that clinical detachment.

"I couldn't understand... how could he be so upset?" The toy was broken. It was just a toy... a nothing.

Then, why...? _Why?_ She hadn't been able to understand any of it.

Sajantha bit her lip.

"He said...'_All the signs pointed to you. I cannot be wrong!'_" Stabbing into her with those ice blue eyes, as sharp as his knives. "'_I can't use you this way.'" _

But oh, how he had used her already.

"I... I don't know for what," she added to Edwin's expression, finally looking up.

The sick feeling had spread to dull her senses, down to her fingertips. Numb, even the warmth of the tea did not penetrate.

"You think this was regarding… your heritage?" the wizard asked carefully.

"It had to be, the way he would talk while he..." she swallowed. "About... reaching my full potential."

"He must have been wrong," said Edwin at last, fingers on his chin, touching his beard.

"What wrong? Wrong about being wrong? I don't… He wasn't." Irenicus had discovered what she knew all along. She was... no Bhaalspawn. Sajantha tapped at her glass, surprised to find it empty.

She stared glumly into her drained cup as they briefly returned their attention to their beverages.

Edwin leaned back in his chair looking thoughtful. "So now you must once again re-order your life around revelations given to you by prophecies and madmen. Who are you to believe?"

Sajantha shook her head slowly. Had she ever believed Sarevok? Gorged on blood, delusional. Madman, indeed.

"No time for complacency." Edwin observed.

Her head jerked up. "I'm hardly complacent! Everyone is still trying to kill me, and—and _judging _me—" Which was the worse? "—because of who they _think_ I am."

"And they will continue to underestimate you to their deaths, as they have before."

"Mortality all around," Sajantha sighed, contemplating a refill.

"Then let us see if we can bring it to this Irenicus as well."

She tried to hide a shiver. "I think we should stay away from him," she said softly, poking her glass as if it had offended her.

"Regardless of your aversion to murder, it seems you must continue to practice it in order to stay alive."

She thought of Sarevok. She thought of Rayic Gethras. Mae'var.

A smile lurked beneath his moustaches. "Will you remain as capable of killing as you were, or did your time with Irenicus soften you?"

Sajantha tossed down the rest of her drink and glared. The dregs. "Go to hell, Edwin." She sat down her empty mug with a resounding clang.

Edwin, if anything, looked pleased.


	5. Day 4, ii

**DAY 4 (ii)**

Their fresh outfitting had bought Sajantha a measure of readiness, an eagerness at odds with her return to near-impoverished status. It inflated her determination. She felt newly made; a new person. A significantly poorer person, to be sure, but there was something uplifting about her new garments.

How utterly snobbish of her. How utterly selfish, when Imoen remained every moment at Irenicus's mercy.

But... perhaps they had had the right of it. Necessary.

And what of her life was not bound to necessity?

They _all_ of them looked like new. The group that greeted her appeared assuringly competent, if a bit on the shiny side. Though a few days slogging through dungeons should remedy that quickly enough.

She greeted them warmly in turn, trying to keep her eyes from drawing to Jaheira's coinpurse, trying not to calculate how much money they had left. Just as Jaheira's eyes seemed not to want to dwell overmuch on finding Sajantha and Edwin in any kind of proximity. Sajantha took a step to the side, uncomfortably.

"Okay!" she said with forced brightness. "We have a lead in the Five Flagons... You—you know of it, Yoshimo?" The rogue had stepped forward.

"Aye, that I do! One of the better inns in the Bridge District, home to a fine playhouse and a halfling innkeeper with a preoccupation for ale. It boasts a stage that draws many a fine performer."

Performer. Once upon a time... She had... she had wanted...

It seemed so long ago, now.

She found her focus slipping, a hesitation that did not go unnoticed.

"Boo wonders: why don't you play anymore, Sajantha?" Minsc asked.

Sajantha cleared her throat. "Irenicus took my..." _My magic. _

_My friends. My sister._

_My life. _

"My... instruments," she finished lamely.

The ranger looked back at her with guileless eyes. "We have restocked all of our other supplies—why not that?"

Sajantha sighed, shaking her head. "It's an extravagance, now. There's no need."

"As much need as there ever is for raising spirits," Jaheira said. "What more do you require?"

The former bard hesitated. What more, indeed?

* * *

The Five Flagons was not so bustling as the number of seats boasted. Perhaps it was due to the unfortunate proximity to a tannery, just doors away. She had been surprised to find such an odiferous trade not relegated to the slums; the Bridge District was hardly on the outskirts. Gods, all of Athkatla surely stank.

The building seemed less traveled than the Copper Coronet without even the prestigious air of the Mithrest Inn. Had Sajantha not still been reeling from its finery, she might have disregarded the peeling paint here, the crumbling brick. An overabundance of halflings clambered about, although given the proprietor that was surely expected.

Downstairs the theater was in disarray. A fine-costumed woman was trying to calm an audience that seemed more inclined to hurl rotten produce than listen to her appeals. Stress had worn down the edges of her natural grace, and her eyes seized on Sajantha's party gratefully, at once recognizing them for adventurers.

Sajantha was struck by the relief in her eyes, her strange tilted eyes... was she elven? Her bearing seemed curious for one of the fair folk.

"Fate smiles on us!" the woman cried, abandoning her attempts to placate the viewers. They trickled out, left to gnaw on their anger. Sajantha took the opportunity to examine her closer as she hurried down the stage steps to meet them. Her skin was a dusky blue, deeper than even the blue-tinged of a moon elf.

"You are answering my call for adventurers, then?" she asked, calm reasserting itself as she studied them in turn. Sajantha could not place her accent.

"Indeed we are, madam," said Sajantha. "What is it you require?"

* * *

Six-hundred gold seemed a pittance, the barest of sums, though it was enough to feed a family for weeks. Sajantha had lost all perspective.

She longed for another dramatic confrontation a la Mae'Var. Ten thousand gold. Ten _thousand._ Would someone pay her to dispose of the rest of the Thieves Guild?

It was a thought.

"Sewers," Edwin was grumbling. "I knew if I remained with this group long enough there would be sewers involved. How did I know this?"

Sajantha did not like it any more than he did, answering him as she carefully picked through the swollen detritus that clogged their path. "How does it compare to the sewers of Thay?" she asked. "I found Baldur's Gate's to be far more accommodating."

Edwin shuddered. "Yes, it is just like you to go trudging around through the darkest, nastiest places you can find, is it not? I would be ecstatic to remain without firsthand knowledge of these wondrous locales you are constantly uncovering." He did not look up to glare at her, saving his attention for his feet, each careful step. "Why would I have any idea what the sewers of Thay are like? Not everyone finds slogging through waste an acceptable past-time. (Who is to say the magnificence of Thay would even _require_ such mundane—)"

They turned the corner, were nearly upon a second group of armed warriors before Sajantha noticed enough to halt them. "You there!" A dwarf stamped forward, breaking apart from his companions with a scowl. "Hand over your loot or I split your skulls wide! One thousand gold will do!"

For all that he did not reach her shoulders, the man was stout and heavily armored, was armed with an axe and a nasty grin. His weapon gleamed, his _teeth_ gleamed wickedly: a promise of violence.

He could hurt her.

She found herself backing up. A few paces he could close with no trouble, could _eviscerate _her with no trouble— The only reason she had not _died _in her last encounter was because she had cowered. She had _cowered. _Her normal response would once have been a show: a dose of either persuasion or intimidation, before simply resorting to violence. So strange to be on this side of the equation... to be left without a _choice. _

Helpless.

And now _this _was becoming her instinctive reaction: to flinch away, to run, to hide behind her _friends_—

"I don't _think so!_" Minsc answered for her, sounding properly scandalized. "Heroes of goodness—" he broke off as the other group immediately set to work, drawing weapons and readying to charge.

She should move.

Sajantha's vision wavered at the rush of spells they immediately unleashed, protections and enhancements all on the side of the enemy but their afterimages burned through her vision. The augmentations on her own group seemed paltry in comparison. Perhaps she should have a word with Edwin on being more generous with his own magic?

Only – not now. Minsc planted himself in front of her, brandishing a large sword and a fearsome war-cry: "Come and get it! Hamster vengeance for everyone!"

Startled by a sudden burst of green around them, Sajantha nearly tripped at the vines and creepers arising at her feet. They were poking upwards through the floor, cracking through brick and stone to wrap around ankles and wind up legs, intent on disabling their opposition. Her stumble carried her outside their range.

The crawling vines halted the enemy's charge, though they were not so strong that they could stand up to an indefinite struggle. Even as the men worked to cut through them, more tendrils grew up in their place: catching weapons, hands, arms.

"Don't let them close in!" They had switched to ranged weaponry, pelting newly enchanted arrows into enemy ranks.

Of course they could handle it, her companions were no fools; among them she stood out clearly as the novice, the weak link. Her strategic advice would be as useful as her current repertoire of spells. They knew what to do.

Useless. Completely, utterly—

And yet the enemy cleric had turned his eye on her. Though he would have done better to single out any other of her companions as a genuine threat, he apparently found her too tempting a target to pass up—worthy at least of a quick brush-off.

Blood drained from her face confronted with his malevolent concentration, and as he whispered the last words of a spell she knew it would do no good to run. The heavens seemed to open up above her, where stone had been seconds before—blinding light streaming downward—

_fire_

—nowhere to go—

She felt the warmth first as a pressure on her wrist, and her eyes relocated to meet a flashing gaze, a burst of red that filled her vision, and _heat _all along one side of her body... her eyes widened at Edwin's arm snaked round her, at the concentration in his eyes, at the spell that burst open around them, a wave of searing cold that stole her breath. Tiny knives implanted in her lungs that melted abruptly – gasping air – a rush of warmth that blossomed outwards, fogging her vision.

She looked at the world through a colored bubble as a column of fire roared above it.

And was repelled.

"Protection from magic," she whispered, eyes focusing on the wizard as she sagged. His grip kept her steady. "I wouldn't touch the edges," Edwin warned, eyes on the battle. "I have tried to account for the extra body but I cannot guarantee its stability." He smiled, perhaps at the sight of their own fighters closing in, as his handiwork rendered the enemy mage defenseless. Somehow the Red Wizard continued casting: a quick spell that burst straight through shield and armor.

He spared her the briefest of glances. "I am almost surprised it worked for you at all; I gave it even chances."

That it would work at all... or would disable her? Kill her as surely as that fount of flame nearly did?

She swallowed, more unnerved by his closeness than his disclosure. Tingles, from his palm outwards, vibrated up her arm, down her side. She tried not to tremble in his grasp. It was a close thing; the call of magic—its powerful rush—sang in her ears while the tactile sensations did their best to thoroughly distract her.

It was a buzzing, now, a steady hum, a vibration short of an intensity that might rattle her teeth. Not just sound, it joined the warmth to flare through her body. She clung to him as her head swam, as she lost focus. Blinked. The world was a haze, a smear upon her vision. The only thing solid stood before her, looking bemused.

He was limited to casting simple spells one-handed, though it did not seem to slow him. His other hand gripped her folded arm below the elbow, holding her flush against him. She wanted to collapse, wanted to believe this heat that filled her was simply magic, a side effect.

Swooning! At a time like this! She would bury her head in shame if she were not sure to topple over.

"You are a strange one, Sajantha," he said, turning his face. So close.

It was a good thing he was a few hands taller than her, she could hardly bear his breath in her hair—were it any closer... had she been subjected to the full force of his attention...

He released another spell, filling the circle with a brief burst of magic.

Her insides were clenching, determined somehow to... to do _something;_ tear her inside out, perhaps, incapacitate her completely...

She realized the protection spell had bubbled out, their enemies no more. She was safe.

In his arms!

The comedy of the moment would undoubtedly reveal itself at a later date, when she did not feel so shaken by the entire experience.

He let go of her, stepped back. She breathed in unsteadily. The humid air in the sewer seemed to have cooled. The absence of his support– if things would just stop spinning—

"Thank you," she whispered shakily.

Nauseous, dizzy, now that the danger had passed—now that the spell had passed—would she tumble to the ground? Did she always need someone to hold her up?

_Weak._

She stood her ground, wavering only a little, until the moment passed. It would be so much easier if the sour stink of sewer and burned magic did not seem to invade every pore, if the nerves of her body did not remain so innervated... from—from magic.

They were looking at her worriedly. It was simply the strain of spellwork, the proximity... of magic. She straightened.

* * *

The room was cozy. A plush couch, a bare fireplace... The incongruity of encountering such a setting in the sewers was lost on Sajantha as she spotted all the books and immediately became distracted. Books! One of her hands reached out to linger against the leather-bound spines, breathing in the familiar musty smells, the sharp acrid stink of–

_mephits?_

Her eyes flew open as a ghostly transparent scaled creature materialized in the air before her. She threw up a book as protection against its magic breath, but the force of it still knocked her to the ground, stole her own breath. Burned her lungs, her face. Minsc let out a cry and charged, and the room burst into bedlam as a handful more of the creatures appeared. From the stonework, from the empty grill of the fireplace, all over the room the mephits emerged. Their weak magic filled the air... she felt them everywhere.

Felt them, she could not see. The glittering dust, the tiny shards of glass filled her throat–her eyes: all she could see was a thousand facets of white; she could not breathe. She coughed, tried to find shelter behind one of the bookcases, bumped her head. Behind. What was behind, when you couldn't see the location of your enemies?

A flame breathed across the room, unsettlingly close.

Outdone by a handful of mephits. Surely the universe hated her.

There was not so much magic here as there had been downstairs in their last battle, yet it filled her shaking heart. She took in shallow breaths, gripping the edge of a low shelf.

Edwin rolled off a particularly nasty curse, disabling one mephit so that it fell easily to a swordstroke from Minsc.

Truly such diverse talents worked well in tandem. If only she could find her own niche... Was there anything left for her?

_Useless_.

It was not until the sounds of battle died that her vision completely returned. She blinked.

Scorch marks streaked the books beside her head.

Incredibly dangerous to keep such beasts in close quarters with valuable texts.

Gorion would say something about knowledge being wasted in such a manner, evidencing their owner as a fool: collecting books did not make one any more learned, reading them more intelligent, it was about employing one's natural intelligence and absorbing the knowledge—_applying_ it.

She wondered what Edwin would think of that, how his Thayvian-born philosophies might overlap or come to head against disciples of Oghma. What god did he follow? Vecna came to mind, perhaps only from seeing his accoutrements for sale... Vecna: magic and secrets. Or did the Red Wizards all follow some specific deity? She had read what she could on the subject of magic, yet there was precious little to be found on Thay itself.

Sajantha rose on shaky feet.

Surely they were in the right place. If the grand bookcases did not give him away as a scholar, the summoned mephits proclaimed him wizard. And all in a tidy base adjoining the sewers. Just the sort of person that would ostensibly kidnap an actor of mysterious origin. And a gem. Raelis had seemed equally concerned for the gem.

The next room—

Their steady footsteps faltered as she did, as her eyes took in the scene: the remains. In jars, lining the room. Posed for study: on the table, a skeleton lay as if waiting.

_Experiments._

She would not think of Irenicus, his cold eyes, cold hands–

_The spells that wove through my brain... cold, ugly things!_

The spells, one after another, with no respite to be found: Sajantha had shut them out, walled them off—had she done it to herself, cutting off that part of her? Like amputating a foot to save the leg, the body?

_Severed._

_The knives—_

_Khalid, a broken mess—_

_He said I should see, so I would understand, but I don't know what he wanted! He would cut and say "Do you see?" Cut and say "Do you see?"_

The skeleton stared at her, empty sockets somehow full of accusation.

Sajantha raised her fingers to her own eyes but the vision was inside her head, overlaying the scene before her. Khalid lying on the slab, _used, finished... _nothing left but his mortal coil dripping from the table. Her hands slipped down to her mouth.

She looked up. Panic was a snake, slithering on her insides, _squeezing_. "He... he..."

Pain crossed Jaheira's face, swift and sudden. She jerked her own eyes away, abruptly.

"I'm sorry..." Sajantha said, bowing her head. My fault. Khalid was... he was...

Dead.

He was _dead._

How did you... how could you get past that, when Gorion's loss still haunted her?

How did you... pretend nothing is wrong, when there's this hollow space inside you and everything you hear is the echo of it?

She looked up, colliding with Edwin's eyes. She couldn't hold his gaze. He already knew too much.

_Weak._

She followed them through the hall.

The elven mage that confronted them then did not match her captor in looks or bearing, did not possess the same measure of cool confidence that would freeze her insides—did not _scare _her, yet she was relieved when Edwin stepped forward to handle matters.

Relieved...and surprised.

A rush of magic burst forth from Edwin's fingertips, breaking the mage off mid-sentence. Anticipating his next move, Edwin prepared a second attack, parting through the elf's automatic defenses; the others cut through him easily before they could be renewed.

Relieved, but... confused. It seemed unlike him. "You seem to have no sympathy for mages snug in the comfort of their homes," Sajantha mused.

Edwin gave her a disbelieving look. "Sympathy, Sajantha... truly? One must marvel at your _timely _ability to recall a conscience. This one and Gethras were hardly paragons of goodness."

"Skeletons... a hidden base in the sewers... he was surely up to no good," Yoshimo added pragmatically.

"And now we know not what he did with this actor, this gem—" Jaheira grumbled.

It did not take them overlong to find out.

A man stood lost in the middle of the study, turning to face them warily. He looked a bit unbalanced, moonstruck.

The features that marked Raelis Shai graced him with less intensity: but for the strange markings on his face and an unusual tilt to his pointed ears he could be wholly elven. Yet there was an aura about him... a touch of strangeness, more than his odd-colored hair...

"My captor lies dead... I can feel it!" He turned to them, eyes wide. "And the sparrow spies his glorious saviors! Oh, what grand joy! Poetry o'erwhelms this sparrow's heart!" The man grasped his chest dramatically.

Yoshimo glanced back at Jaheira. "This man has the _air _of your actor at least, Miss Jaheira."

The blue-haired man threw back his head. "In a blaze of trumpets, with wicked blades held high, thus came ye fates of chaos to let this sparrow fly!"

"The air of a magically-addled, lotus-smoking simpleton," Edwin muttered, unimpressed.

An answering call rose in Sajantha, this language of poetry, bubbled out of her in reply before she consciously willed it.

"As shall be each winter morrow, this bird's flight shall prompt no sorrow: for though it takes to wing with wynn, in spring the sparrow's back again."

She flushed, having not intended to return his verse in kind, and certainly not with such a silly thing... But the stranger chuckled with unrestrained delight.

"A fellow student of the arts!" he cried, coming near to sweeping her off her feet in his joy. She suspected most of it was gratitude for freeing him, the rest an inherent proclivity towards the dramatic – but she blushed again nonetheless. "This sparrow has not ever been so blessed."

"Did the troupe-leader speak of a reward for recovering his bird _brain_ as well?" Edwin asked. "No?" He looked bored.

"You are with Raelis?" the bard asked politely. "Well, well, well... my hide may yet be saved. Come, let me join with you and we shall be done with the foul humors of this place."

"We have not the room nor patience to indulge spouters of bad poetry," Edwin divided his cross look between the newcomer and Sajantha. "(Surely any reward should have gone to the wizard for taking him off her hands in the first place.)"

The actor clutched his heart, feigning injury. "You wound me... 'twas a simple verse. You think, mayhap, that my brain has been addled too long by arcane spells? Oh, what tragedy!"

Arcane spells? "What—" Sajantha swallowed. _What was done to you? _No, no. That was not a thing to share.

The man turned tilted eyes to her, cocking his head. Sparrow—_some _sort of bird, she could see it.

"Come, let us retrieve the gem Mekrath has taken from me before we venture further."

They followed the twisting hall through traps and monsters—the mark, it seemed, of any wizard of proficiency—the respite that came upon reaching the last room seemed startlingly sudden. Here the light was dim, the walls softly glowing. Carefully kept, lovingly maintained. The gem rested serenely in this quiet room, placed on an altar as if it were an object of obeisance.

Their footsteps echoed loudly on the marble floor. Violating the stillness, the space itself.

Trespassing_._

A still, quiet room—little larger than this... there, plush carpeting had stolen their footsteps, muted them, making the next noise stand out all the more:

_click_

And the sudden arrival of sound, loosed like a floodgate: abrupt—jarring, it broke over them.

An alarm.

A warning.

_Trespassers. _

_Bells, bells pounding in her head, her heart._ _The harsh ringing abruptly stilled: someone was coming._

_He would find them. He would find _her_. He was coming._

He was coming for her.

Sajantha froze.

The sound, the feeling of intrusion overlaid in her head.

"Sajantha..?"

_You have disturbed the peace of the master's sanctuary._

The peace they had violated—this shrine, this place of reverence—not to a god, but—

"Don't—"

"He's coming," she whispered. Her head was ringing. "He's..."

"Don't... move."

Figures appearing in that whiteness, the blankness receding as their silhouettes formed around her.

Yoshimo... at her feet?

A second click.

"There." The rogue finished, standing up.

Another trap...disarmed.

She stared out at them, knew her eyes were far too large.

"You can move, now."

Could she?

She wavered, heart still pounding. No.

The ringing had descended to her chest, a drumbeat. She sank down heavily against the wall.

It wasn't real. He wasn't...

_Yet, _he had said, _nothing is real yet_.

She was trembling.

No, _no_, he wasn't real; he wasn't here. Other things. Think of other things. The cold tile beneath her. She could see her pale face reflected in the polished altar, eyes wide and staring.

Blink.

Oghma. Think of Oghma, her... no. Not hers. He would not have her. His symbol, a blank scroll, seemed morbidly ironic. She had nothing to offer him.

Gorion. Why did you— _No_. Not Gorion.

She was going to throw up.

Trembling.

It wasn't real, no...

_not yet, not *yet*_

She was going to explode.

Footsteps.

Louder, noise that coalesced into a shadow above her. Reality descended, harsh and loud around her; as her eyes focused it soared in intensity.

Minsc was beaming at her. "Look what we have found, friend Sajantha!" the giant cried.

She looked up, eyes rising to the actor's similar smile, muted, amused—before falling to the ranger's outstretched hands.

"A... harp?" she said, reaching out tentatively. Her fingers nearly drew back from the enchantment coating it, but the compulsion was strong. Something to _focus _on, and she seized it gratefully. Her skin tingled.

Sajantha stared at the instrument, taken aback, taken *back* —the carvings were different, the size was a bit off, but Milil's _mercy_, it rested so well in her hands. She just sat there, cradling it lightly, until her companions nudged her.

"Let's hear it then, shall we?"

Sajantha closed her eyes, shut she could almost pretend it was the same one—her fingers knew it, remembered—gods, she should have picked one up long before. She took a deep breath. Something restless inside her had been stilled. A single piece, returned—out of so many, but it slid easily into place.

A tentative strum—focus, focus—a sweep of fingers, half a chord—

A hairsbreadth of hesitation; her fingers out of practice, numb—

The earsplitting screech was so intensely jarring Sajantha could hardly hear the sounds of protest over the ringing in her ears. More than any fumbling on her part could manage—it was a magic that scrambled the notes, pounded them through her ears, her head. She nearly dropped the instrument in an attempt to lose the sound.

She gaped at the harp, askew in her lap, hands on her ears.

Silence fell.

Among them all, only one who was not surprised: she felt his amusement as grating as the sound itself. Haer'Dalis, the blasted man. He caught her aghast look and grinned. "Ah, fair lady—a trick was played on thee! I confess I suspected, so it lies to me to beg apology from thou grace." He sounded as if it was an assured outcome... a harmless jest at her expense.

Numb.

She could only stare at him as her mind sluggishly tried to reassemble its pieces. "F-fuck you," she managed after a moment, ignoring Jaheira's surprised "Sajantha!"

She wished she could feel angry, wished for a rage to grip her that she might seize upon. Another distraction. She stood, ignoring her shaking limbs, to throw the harp violently into the wall.

Nothing. Nothing but this hole, spreading numbness, devouring her from the inside. She wanted to cry but could not summon the tears; there was no release for the pressure wound so tightly inside her.

She turned away. Stupid, stupid. Gods, she was a fool. _Why don't you play anymore, Sajantha_?

Because I can't do _anything._

Or blame it on the instrument. Of _course_ it was cursed.

_She _was gods-damned and bloody cursed. Everything she touched might as well crumble to ashes and save itself the trouble of a drawn-out death lest she warp it first beyond all recognition.

Sajantha realized she had sped from a walk to a run, had flown up the staircase (stupid, dangerous again—it would serve her right to die from mephits or some such). A tantalizing breeze hit her face as she broke free of the interior, almost enough sensory information to focus on. Not this stillness within her, more frightening than any rage. Run with it, run... keep running—

...fly...

Sajantha halted at the ledge, halted as she heard someone following on the stairs.

She heard footsteps behind her, wondering who would _dare,_ who would be so brave—so foolish? She whirled to see the actor, the pretender—no doubt he could coax a song from even the most cursed of instruments, no doubt he was a charmer with no ties, no worries, no doubt he could wield those twin blades with an astounding proficiency.

Anger? Jealousy? The coals of it heated inside her.

"_What,_" she demanded, surprised her pent-up tension did not emerge, flying from her mouth with a force equal to the one that held it in check—flaying him apart. He did not flinch.

"I most truly and humbly beg your esteemed forgiveness," the man said. Could sincerity exist among such flowery words, or was it inevitably choked out between them before drawing breath?

"Unforgivable of me, to taunt this, my fairest rescuer—a poor jest, poor taste; this sparrow does not wish to cause you further grief."

Further. What else could he do to her? What had not been done?

"I had no idea you would react this way; I thought it a fine joke, just the thing to pull you from your stupor. I see you are altogether different than most humans I have encountered."

Sajantha shifted. "I'm not human," she said. It was a confession, a warning. It was a strange thing to say... a half-elf was not so very different.

He stared at her as if she were a puzzle he was intent on resolving. "No?" He took a step forward. She shifted again, hands against the balcony railing. Below her, the Bridge District. If she turned she could pick out the Five Flagons. If she leaned she could be a smear upon the ground.

"There is such chaos swirling about you," he breathed. Were she a different woman, she could almost imagine he was swooning, enraptured. But... impossible.

She studied him, hands on hips. "You are quite mistaken, 'sparrow'. Perhaps the magic of the wizard truly did addle you."

He shook his head, smiling, leaning close. He traced a pattern in the air around her, and she felt something quiver. Of course he knew magic. Undoubtedly he used his spells to charm people when his flattery did not succeed.

Flattery seemed to be far from his mind, unless he truly was a fool. "Such dark energies dance in your presence," he gestured. "Breathtaking."

He truly did look breathless. Did she happen upon every crazed lunatic this city had to offer? "You are _wrong_," she said coolly.

"Denial sings such a pretty tune, does it not?" he smiled widely. Knowingly.

She slapped him. She hadn't realized she was going to do it, hadn't realized she was doing it until the stinging in her palm, the echoing smack. The tip of her was horrified, the rest blunted down with surprise and the barest edge of satisfaction.

She did not so much as glance upon his reaction, the abruptness of the action brought an equally abrupt rush of embarrassment—her feet were carrying her away, to the stairs—only to halt in the face of her companions.

"What...?" Jaheira trailed off.

Sajantha heard movement behind her, but did not turn. Her face was undoubtedly as red as her stinging hand.

"Let us not speak of it," the actor suggested behind her. "I am sure it was deserved. Such poor repayment I have for this, my fairest rescuer! I would beg your indulgence once again if I thought you might offer it; instead—alas!—I will take my leave. Less a fool than some, if not most."

He tossed the gem up behind him as he bowed. It twirled briefly, catching light, before he snatched it from the air without even a glance. "May your wings fly free and unfettered, my raven."

She watched him go, an oppressiveness settling upon her. She was left standing too close to the ledge, too close to the edge.

A single slip...

The ground seemed closer, desperate to seize her, pull her towards it. And she was so heavy...

* * *

The playhouse was empty. Some kind of discomfort lingered in the air that Sajantha could only name as magic for the chill it left on her.

Jaheira was frowning as she surveyed the deserted room. "So that is to be it, then?"

Sajantha sat down heavily on one of the benches. The troupe had departed. No actors... no payment.

Another day lost. And for _what?_

Her head slipped into her hands.

She heard shifting wood, a weight as the bench accommodated another beside her.

"Have you at last come to the conclusion that blindly helping others is a waste of time and effort? It would save you much of both were you to simply listen to me from the beginning. "

Sajantha glanced at Edwin through her fingers. "Somehow I can't see how listening to you would make the world a better place."

The wizard shrugged, leaning back. "For whom? I can assure you, me and mine would come out on top."

"I wasn't doing it for charity," she said with clenched teeth. "We needed that gold." Six hundred, and she had so nearly scoffed. And now, to be denied it— Her hands gripped the edges of her seat.

His smile was full of condescension. "Surely this cannot be the first time your trusting nature has been taken advantage of, dear Sajantha? Perhaps it would be best to leave the profession entirely if you cannot—"

"Shut up, Edwin," Sajantha groaned, pulling in her knees to rest her head, to hide.

_Denial sings such a pretty tune, does it not?_

Shut up shut up shut up


End file.
